


Methuselah in the White Mountains

by cwilliams1794



Series: Trembling Giant [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Car Accidents, High School, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Teen Angst, Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cwilliams1794/pseuds/cwilliams1794
Summary: Evan and Connor are assigned to do an English project together. They get along surprisingly well - but  when Connor has one very bad night, the legal and emotional fallout threatens to end their friendship before it's even begun.





	1. Chapter 1

On the second day of his senior year in high school, Evan Hansen had to face one of his greatest fears: a partner project.

The day had already been less than great. Evan hadn't had time to pack a sandwich for lunch that morning, so he'd brought money to buy something from the cafeteria, but the line was long and the thought of trying to balance a tray on his unbroken arm, then sitting alone in the lunchroom, was so depressing that he decided he'd rather go hungry. He spent lunch at the edge of campus under a tree, reading his chemistry textbook and listening to his stomach grumble. He was relieved when the bell rang.

Now, as his English teacher, Ms. Giordano, lectured to the class, his hunger was edging towards pain. He tried to pay attention.

"...literary terms to learn for the exam. But I want you to know them, not just memorize them, so the assignment is to demonstrate all of these terms in a short story."

A collective groan from the class. She held up a hand. 

"And I know it's a long list, so you'll have writing partners. You'll both collaborate on one story. Don't worry, I'm not grading you on literary merit, just on whether you use and label all the devices correctly."

Ms. Giordano started to go down the rows, assigning partners. On the first day of class she had made everyone sit in alphabetical order. Evan realized that meant he'd probably be partnered with Hilary Huang behind him - which was fine, she seemed nice. Maybe they could do it all over email and not have to talk at all. 

Ms. Giordano reached his row. "Pete Farrell, you're with Tim Freedman. Evan Hansen, you're with..." She hesitated.

Had she forgotten the name? Evan turned. "Hilary," the girl behind him mouthed to their teacher, but she wasn't looking at them. She was looking behind them, at-

"Connor Murphy. Hilary Huang, you're with Silvia Núñez. Kate O'Hara, you're with..."

Silvia, who'd been slouched over, suddenly looked like she'd dodged a bullet. She and Hilary grinned at each other. 

Connor Murphy? Evan was paired with Connor, the guy who'd shoved him in the hall just yesterday morning? Connor the famed, friendless delinquent, who probably skinned kittens for fun? Connor, the older brother of Evan's longtime crush, who was so different from her that he might've come from an evil mirror universe?

Evan looked at Connor. Connor was scribbling something on his list of literary terms, seemingly deaf to the world around him. He was wearing all black, as stern as a thundercloud. 

Connor only paused his writing to tuck his long hair behind one ear. When he glanced up, he saw Evan watching him. He frowned.

Evan immediately faced forward, ears burning.

When class ended, Connor packed up and left immediately, not looking back. Evan shrugged to himself. So much for partners. Maybe he'd need to write a whole story by himself, just in case.

After English came calculus, then chemistry, and finally the day was over. Evan was unlocking his locker when Jared came up behind him.

"Hey Evan, do you have - whoa!"

"What?"

Jared pointed at his arm. "How'd you get Connor to sign your cast?"

Evan turned his arm around. He'd forgotten he hadn't seen Jared since yesterday. After one day, he'd gotten so used to the signature he forgot it wasn't always there. "Yesterday. We ran into each other in the lab. He did it as...kind of an apology, I guess."

"I like how he took up the entire cast. Like he's claiming territory. It's like he peed on you."

_Thank you for that lovely and not at all gross analogy, Jared_. Evan opened his locker. "We got assigned to do a writing project together."

Jared whistled. "Giordano. She's a crafty dame. Bet she saw your cast and figured you wouldn't ask to be reassigned."

Evan shrugged with one shoulder.

"You'd better change the combination on your locker then."

Evan's locker combination was Zoe Murphy's birthday. He'd learned it from her Facebook profile. In the back wall of his locker - usually blocked by textbooks - he'd also taped up two pictures from her Instagram. One was of a row of apple trees; the other was a view of farms and forest, taken from the top of a hill. He liked having these secret reminders of her that no one else could see. They were also (he reminded himself, whenever he thought he'd crossed the line into creepiness) genuinely good photographs.

Evan shoved his books inside and locked the door. "How would he ever learn my locker combination? No one knows it but you."

"Just saying, if he does he'll probably skin you alive. If you even survive working together."

Evan thought,  _He can't be that bad_  and  _Of course I'll survive_  and  _It's one assignment. It's not even worth that much_. But he said nothing out loud. He didn't believe any of his own thoughts.

In a second Jared got what he was looking for - the name of the new teacher running the computer lab - and Evan left to go to the parking lot.

Evan had been a little slow putting his things away, and the lot was already mostly empty by the time he came out. Only a few students remained chatting on the sidewalk - and away from them, Connor, looking lost.

For a moment Evan hesitated, not sure whether to approach him or not. Then Connor spotted him. The choice was gone. Connor was walking towards him.

"Hey," he said. Connor had a clean, crisp voice, but now it was muted with wariness. "Evan. We're writing a story together."

"Yes, we are."

Connor waited, then raised an eyebrow like Evan was a simpleton. "So maybe we should, you know, talk about it?"

"Oh yeah, of course! I mean I didn't know if you wanted to talk about it here, like right now, or if maybe you wanted to exchange numbers or something, because either would be fine with me, it's not like we have to plan everything right this second, and I'll...um...shut up now."

Evan was only a little shorter than Connor, if he stood up straight, but at the moment he felt incredibly small. 

"Did you drive to school?"

"Yeah - I was going to my car. I mean, my mom's car-"

"Then we can talk about it at my house," Connor cut in, before Evan started rambling again. "If you're okay driving me."

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"I know. Everyone hates me."

Connor stated it flatly, without anger or pity, as if it was a fact of life. Nothing travels faster than light, the universe is expanding, and everyone hates Connor. He could have been quoting an ancient maxim.

"I don't hate you," Evan said.

Connor looked at him.

Evan quickly added, "I mean, don't get me wrong, you scare the crap out of me, but I don't... _hate_  you."

It was hard to read Connor's expression. He looked at Evan for so long that Evan began to fidget. Then Connor asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Oh no, I'm fine-" Evan started to say, before his stomach let out an enormous growl.

Finally Connor's blank expression broke. He laughed. Evan could see all his teeth when he smiled. 

"That was - eloquent. Come on, let's get food. Which car's yours?"

Evan led him to the old hatchback - mustard-yellow, at least ten years old, hideous but reliable. Evan's mother had bought it used. The awful color had actually let her bargain the owner down to a lower price. "Where do you want to go? There's like a McDonald's and a Burger King on Victory Boulevard-"

"Yeah, well, McDonald's can suck my dick and Burger King can get fucked in the ass, because  _Wendy's_  is where it's at."

Evan had no idea what to say to this.

Connor amended, "Actually Five Guys is where it's at, but they don't have a drive-thru, so let's pay ol' Dave a visit."

"I...okay."

They got into the car. Connor collapsed more than sat, folding in his limbs like a praying mantis. 

As Evan carefully drove out of the parking lot, Connor asked, "You got any music?"

"Yeah - it's on my phone, though."

By 'It's on my phone' Evan meant, 'Wait till we get to a stoplight,' but Connor didn't bother waiting. He picked up Evan's iPhone from the cup holder and swiped it open.

For a second, Evan regretted not setting a lock screen password. Then he realized he'd never needed it before. No one else had ever touched his phone but him. 

"Your albums are open," Connor said. Then, "Dude, why are all your pictures  _trees_?"

"I thought you were looking for music-" Evan said, but Connor kept scrolling.

"Literally every photo's a tree. What the hell?"

Evan took a deep breath. "I had a job with the park service over the summer. I learned a lot about trees, and I take pictures when I find an interesting one. Is that so weird?"

"Kinda," Connor said.

Evan was offended on behalf of trees and tree enthusiasts everywhere, but before he could say something sharp Connor apparently opened the music library. Connor silently scrolled through Evan's not-particularly-extensive list, reaching the end in a few seconds. He scrolled back up, then back down.

"This is the saddest suburban white boy playlist I have ever seen," Connor said.

"What?"

"Ben Folds? The Mountain Goats?   _Coldplay?_ And - holy shit! Show tunes!"

Evan cringed. He never told anyone about the musicals he liked-

"You have 'Little Shop of Horrors' in here!  _Fuck_  yes, let's hear it!"

Evan wasn't sure if Connor was joking or not, not until the opening wail of "Downtown" reverberated out of the speakers.

It turned out Connor knew all the words to "Dentist!" Evan was surprised - and then, after thinking about it for a second, extremely not surprised.

Soon they reached the Wendy's. As Evan joined the short line for the drive-thru, his hands suddenly went cold.

Going to the drive-thru meant using the menu board speaker. And as much as Evan hated talking to cashiers, he hated using speakers just as much, if not more. He hated having to raise his voice to be heard. He hated the crackling fizz of the intercom that made it hard to hear whatever the worker said back to him, so he was never sure if they got the order right - as if stating out loud what he wanted wasn't somehow humiliating enough - and if he didn't hear how much it cost he couldn't prepare exact change beforehand, so when he got to the window he had to fumble with bills and coins while the driver behind him was  _hating_ him, he was sure of it, and then once the food finally arrived he was always too flustered and anxious to check if they'd added enough ketchup packets, not that he could ever work up the nerve to ask for more anyway-

"Dude, are you okay?"

Evan blinked quickly. "What?"

"You're like, breathing really deeply."

Evan tried to smile reassuringly. It came out more like a grimace. "I just love the smell of onion rings!"  _That was a bad joke. It wasn't even a joke. What the hell are you doing_. "I don't like ordering at drive-thrus," he admitted finally.

Connor laughed. Then - "Wait. Are you serious?"

The car in front of them moved forward. Evan took a deep, shaky breath. 

"I can order, if you want."

Evan rolled forward slowly. "No, I can do it-"

"HI!" Connor practically screamed, even before the person at the intercom could say, "Can I take your order?" Connor leaned over Evan, one hand gripping Evan's headrest. "We'll have a number three, with large fries and a Sprite! And - hey, what do you want?"

Connor was inches away from him, so close his dark hair almost brushed Evan's shirt, so close Evan could see the faint cracks in his dry lips, feel the heat radiating off his body, and even smell the soap he must've used earlier - something sweet, herbaly, and surprisingly feminine. Evan was momentarily dizzied. "Just - a chicken sandwich, would be fine."

"And a six!" Connor said to the intercom. It buzzed back something incomprehensible. Connor leaned back into his seat, and Evan's heart suddenly lurched back to life, as if taking a deep breath. 

As Evan moved forward, he realized - "I don't have that much money-"

"Don't worry, I got you." Connor pulled a twenty out of his wallet.

They got up to the service window. Connor leaned over him again to pay. 

"Your hair's really..." Evan started, before realizing he was about to say something colossally stupid.

"Really what?"

"I-" There was no good way to put this. "-was wondering what that scent was," he finished lamely.  _Oh great, I'm a budding perfume expert now. Or just a weirdo who sniffs people's hair. Great job, Evan Hansen._

"Oh. I just use whatever's in the shower. It's my sister's shampoo. Some pomegranate-lavender thing. I probably smell like a unicorn fart."

"No, it's fine," Evan said. He wasn't going to say he liked it. Connor was probably already creeped out.

Once they got their food - Connor demanded extra ketchup, to Evan's mortification and gratitude - Connor immediately started on his fries while Evan got back on the road.

"So," Connor said, between mouthfuls of fries, "what's the story behind your arm?"

Evan looked down at his cast. He gave Connor the short version -  _I fell out of a tree at work_ \- and because his story about lying broken on the ground hadn't gotten a laugh out of Jared yesterday, Evan instead added, "Jared asked if I was an acorn."  _Haha_. 

Connor didn't laugh. He tore open a ketchup packet. "Your friend's kind of an asshole."

"He's a...family friend..." Evan began, then remembered Connor and Jared had had words yesterday too. He changed his mind. "I think Jared just makes fun of everything really, it's like his way of being friendly or coping or - something - so I don't take it personally; I don't think he was trying to be mean, I think he maybe just didn't...care...very much," Evan finished lamely.

"Well, aren't you just..." 

Evan expected Connor to say "naive" or "pathetic" or just "dumb."

"...adorable," Connor said. "Turn here - this is my street."

Evan was in a section of town he'd never entered before. The houses here were huge, with golf course-perfect lawns and Pinterest-worthy gardens. They were so beautiful they looked a little unreal.

Connor had him park on the street by one especially beautiful house - his own, it turned out. When Connor let him in, Evan tried not to gawk. 

The house looked like a decorator had just left and a photographer was due to arrive any minute. Coordinated furniture. Immaculate floors. Artfully draped curtains. "This place looks like a magazine," Evan said.

Connor - who'd just thrown his backpack on the floor - glanced around. "Yeah. Mi casa es tu casa - except not really, don't touch anything. The main dining room's over there."

_The 'main' dining room? As in you have more than one?_

Connor bounded upstairs for something while Evan spread out at the dining room. He felt a little silly, unwrapping his fast food sandwich on a mahogany table. He felt like he ought to have lobster and caviar. 

Connor, apparently, had no such qualms. He came back down with a small prescription vial, shook out two capsules, and unselfconsciously gulped them down with a swig of Sprite. 

Evan stared without meaning to. He had never taken his medication in front of anyone - not even his own mother. He was too embarrassed to. But Connor had done it as though it was nothing. As quick and natural as taking off a jacket or retying a shoelace.

Connor sat down across from Evan, pulled out a legal pad and their list of terms, and clicked a pen. "So. What's your favorite genre?"

Evan saw now what Connor had been scribbling during class. He had covered their list of terms with story ideas.

They went back and forth for a while - Evan liked sci fi and historical fiction, Connor liked cyber punk and Gothic horror, they both liked fantasy - and a rough plot started to take shape. Evan was surprised by how much effort Connor was putting into it. "She said we're not being graded on literary merit," Evan reminded him. 

"Yeah, well, fuck that," Connor said. "Every chance to write is a chance to write well."

Evan watched him add more notes to the legal pad. His writing, Evan thought, was a little frantic. Like he was running out of time. "I guess I thought you were going to sabotage the whole thing."

"When have I ever sabotaged a project?"

"Alana? English with Ms. Turner? Last year?"

"Hey, 'Fuckleberry Finn' was hilarious!" Connor said. "I bet there's a porn star with that name. I should look this up." Now he paused, clicking and unclicking his pen, before doodling a little cartoon in the margin of his notes. "You know, Alana was my lab partner in Chemistry too. Everyone asks her what it was like to work with me. No one asks me what it was like to work with her."

"What was it like?"

"Since you like musicals - you know that song, 'You and Me' from Book of Mormon? It was like that. Except the blond kid was a short black girl, and the fat kid was a skinny kid who didn't give a fuck. Won't be like that with us, though. It'll be fifty-fifty. I'll start it, and you can choose how it ends." 

He finished the doodle and began scribbling again. Evan had to tilt his head to make out what it was. Surprisingly, it seemed to be an angel, with long, flowing robes and feathered wings.

"Do you write?" Connor asked. "Like outside of school?"

"I write letters."

"To who?"

"Myself."

"Why?"

Connor's tone was neutral - disinterested. Evan sat back. His throat had gone dry. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it wouldn't hurt. "My therapist says it's a way to build my confidence."

There. He'd said it. He'd announced he was in therapy. He admitted something in his brain was broken.

And Connor was unmoved. His tone was still completely neutral when he said, "Well, that's a load of horseshit."

"What?"

Connor looked him in the eye. "You have anxiety issues, right? Doesn't take a psychiatry degree to see that. No offense. So the last thing you need is more navel-gazing. You can't be your own companion. You can't talk yourself out of loneliness. Believe me, I've tried."

"I think my therapist might know me better than you," Evan said. "No offense."

"None taken. What are you on?" Connor asked. It sounded, again, like he was making conversation. He could have asked, "What's your favorite sport?" Evan had never mentioned this to anyone, but with Connor it felt - normal.

"Zoloft."

"SSRI? Not bad." Connor said. "Watch out if they try to get you on benzos. I was on Klonopin for a while, years back, to tide me over before the Celexa kicked in, and holy shit, it was like being trampled by elephants. I spent the whole day on the floor just petting the carpet like it was an animal." He flipped the paper to start a new page. "Just the one?"

"Yeah."

"I'm on an antidepressant and two antipsychotics." He actually gave Evan a wink. "You just got one-upped."

The house had been silent - their conversation and Connor's pen scratches were the only sounds - but now Evan heard a garage door opening somewhere far off. Connor's eyes widened.

"Your parents?"

"No. Zoe," Connor said, and suddenly sprang out of his chair and away from the dining room. Evan followed behind, more slowly.

Connor flung open the door to the garage. "Hey!"

Zoe was just coming out of her car. Evan's palms started to sweat, as they always did when he saw his crush.

This was no time to make an impression on her, though. Zoe looked startled, first by Connor, and then by the sight of Evan behind him, but she recovered quickly. She scowled. "What?"

"You just abandoned me at school today!"

"I'm not gonna wait for you forever, Connor!"

"I was  _five minutes_ late!"

"Why does it matter? You found a way home anyway." She glanced at Evan. "Everything in this house already revolves around you and your needs, your problems, so you could  _at least_  be in the parking lot when I'm ready to go! It's literally the least you could do!" She turned to Evan. "What'd he do to get you to drive him? Did he blackmail you?"

"Actually, we're here to do an English assignment?" Evan said, and felt instantly lame and pathetic.

Weirdly, his pathetic lameness seemed to help - or at least deflated everyone's anger for a moment. Zoe raised an eyebrow.

Connor asked, "Blackmail? I'm a Victorian villain now?" 

"You could be," Zoe muttered. She raised her eyes to Evan's. "You know, he once threatened me with a knife."

Connor said, "Okay, first of all, it was a Swiss Army knife, and secondly - that was three months ago! Get over it!"

Zoe stormed past them into the house and slammed the door.

After the door had stopped shaking, Evan asked, "Uh...maybe...maybe I should go?"

"Yeah," Connor said. "Yeah, okay."

He walked with Evan down the driveway, towards Evan's car.

"Thanks for the food - I'll pay you back-"

"What? Dude, I've already forgotten about it." They reached the car. "Do you have my number?"

"I don't think so."

"I can enter it."

Evan gave him his phone. Connor typed in his information. "Added my email address too. Be careful what you send, though. The NSA's watching."

Evan was about to ask what he meant when the door suddenly swung open again. Zoe was in the frame. She held a tiny bottle in one hand, and she was  _livid_.

"CONNOR, BUY YOUR OWN DAMN NAIL POLISH!"

Connor was - if anything - slightly pleased. "Stop buying fun colors!"

"You need to respect other people's property!"

"And you need to stop being such a whiny little bitch!"

"Hey-" Evan said - he was pretty sure that crossed a line - but Zoe didn't need him to defend her. She reached into a box on the garage's shelf, took out a baseball, and wound back and let the ball fly. 

Zoe had an impressive throwing arm.

The baseball shrieked towards Connor's head - but Connor saw it coming. He jumped out of the way. 

The baseball whipped past him on its arc - right into Evan's tail light.

Everyone's eyes widened as the plastic shattered. Zoe's hands flew up to cover her mouth.

"Oh no!" she said. 

"Oh  _shit_ ," Connor said.

The baseball rolled and nestled into the now obliterated lens. The last of the plastic crackled as it fell on the asphalt. 

"Evan - I'm so, so sorry-"

"It's okay," Evan said quickly, even though it was very much not okay. He didn't want to see Zoe upset. 

"My parents are going to be so angry."

Connor rolled his eyes. "Oh no. A fate worse than death. Our parents' anger towards the favored child."

"Shut  _up_ , Connor!"

"No, it's fine. Don't tell them," Evan said to Zoe. Both the Murphy siblings looked at him. "I'll tell my mom it was my fault. I backed into something, or...something."

"Really? You would do that?" Zoe asked.

"Sure. I mean...it was an accident. You didn't mean to."

"I'll pay you back after you get it fixed. Just tell me how much it cost." Zoe turned to her brother. "You're not going to say anything?"

"Oh hell no. I ain't no snitch."

"Okay. Um - I guess...I'll go now." Evan plucked the baseball out of the tail light, careful not to cut himself on the shards.

"Here, I'll take it," Connor said, walking up to him.

Evan handed him the ball - but after taking it, Connor took his shoulder and pulled him in closer.

"Listen," he said. His voice was low enough that Evan had to duck his head in to hear. "That was a nice of you, taking the blame, but she's not going to repay you."

"What?"

"She doesn't have any money right now. You'll be waiting for cash till Christmas. I'll help you out."

Connor released Evan's shoulder and stepped back. He threw the baseball up in the air and caught it once.

"I'll send you a draft tonight, Evan," he said.

"Okay." He looked back at the two of them. "Bye."

As he drove away, Evan thought about how goodbyes were always so awkward for him. He always felt there was something more he was supposed to say. He could still see Zoe's worried expression, still hear the breaking lens.

He could still feel the pressure of Connor's hand on his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

_Anthea walks out onto the bridge._

_It creaks under her feet. She knows from the sound that it hasn't held anyone in years. At any moment it could splinter under her weight._

_At the other end of the bridge - an angel stands guard._

_Its rainbow robes used to be luminous, but are now dusty and faded. It has stood over the bridge for centuries, perhaps._

_Very few people have come this far._

_She asks the angel, "Can you tell me what is on the other side?"_

_The angel opens one golden eye. "What was behind you?"_

_"Only wasteland."_

_The angel closes its eye. "So behind, so before."_

_The bridge collapses, and suddenly Anthea is falling through a swirling void._

***

Evan's mom was not happy about the broken tail light.

If the plastic had been broken, fine, that was an easy fix. If the fuse had been blown, that would've been more complicated, but still something they could repair themselves. But it turned out the tail lamp wiring itself was damaged. This needed a trip to a mechanic.

"We don't have three hundred dollars to spare right now, Evan!" she said. "How could you be so careless?"

"I'm sorry."

She sighed. "I know you are, honey. We need to keep driving it. If you ever get pulled over, tell them you're on the way to the mechanic. Who knows, maybe we'll get lucky and the cops won't stop us at all."

After seeing her disappointment, Evan felt guilty - almost as guilty as if he really had broken the light himself. It weighed on him that morning. That, and the strange draft Connor had sent him.

Evan had half-suspected Connor wouldn't send him anything at all. He was surprised when a draft arrived in his inbox late that night. It was surreal and beautiful and not at all how he expected Connor to write. 

He wanted to ask Connor about it.

With both of these things on his mind, the morning passed slowly, and lunch passed even slower. Evan spent it in the computer lab, trying to draft a letter to himself.

_Dear Evan Hansen - You've made a new friend!_

No.

_Dear Evan Hansen - You know that guy you thought was going to kill you? Turns out he probably won't!_

Sure, that wouldn't worry his therapist at all.

_Dear Evan Hansen - Maybe Zoe will be so grateful for your gallantry yesterday that she'll actually talk to you. And then you'll fall in love and get married and start an alpaca farm._

_What the hell, I don't even like alpacas_ , Evan thought, deleting what he'd typed again. No, he couldn't write about this yet. He didn't know what to conclude from it all. 

After those failed starts in the lab, Evan was one of the first students in the classroom for English. He watched the door, only glancing at each student as they came in. But when Connor walked in, he stared.

Connor was wearing sunglasses. A bandage covered a slanting gash on his forehead. His long hair looked tangled - uncombed.

Connor didn't look at Evan or anyone else when he walked in. He slumped into his chair and crossed his arms, not even taking out his books when class started. His whole posture had a hard,  _don't-fuck-with-me_ attitude. Evan noticed that even though sunglasses weren't allowed in the classroom, Ms. Giordano didn't ask Connor to take his off, and didn't tell him to take out his class materials.

At the end of class Evan had to quickly stuff all his things into his bag to catch Connor before he left. He caught up to him right outside the door and touched his sleeve. "Hey-"

" _What_?"

Evan stumbled - almost jumped - back. Connor had turned on him like a wounded bear. 

Pete - a classmate with bad acne (his face reminded Evan of a topographic map) - had been passing by; now he stopped to stare at the two of them.

Connor turned. "You want something, fucker?"

Pete was momentarily jolted, but he didn't scurry away. He glared. "What'd you call me, Murphy?"

"Clean your fucking ears, greaseball. I called you a-"

Before he could finish, Evan forcibly shoved him forward, straight through the swinging door of the men's restroom across the hall. Connor was stronger than Evan, but the push had caught him by surprise - he didn't dig his heels in till they were through the door.

Connor turned on Evan immediately. He looked ready to strike.

"Are you okay?" Evan asked.

Whatever Connor had expected Evan to say or ask, it wasn't that. Doubt flickered across his face.

Evan asked softly, "What happened to you?" 

For a second he thought Connor was actually going to answer him, but then a stall door opened. Tim - another classmate, tall and heavyset - gave them a strange look as he washed his hands. It was a painfully thorough handwashing. Evan had time to read the graffiti on a hand dryer:

_Band closet: best place for makeouts! <\-- And drug deals <\-- And instruments? _

Tim finally left. As the door swung shut Connor said simply, "I was in a car crash yesterday."

"What? Are you-"

Connor held up a hand, eyes shut, as if Evan's questions were giving him a headache. "I'm fine. Things were getting a little hot at home, so I thought I'd remove myself...for a while. And while I was out, I crashed into a tree."

"How did you crash into a tree?"

"I may or may not have been stoned at the time. That's between me and my attorney." Connor glanced at the stalls. They were all empty. "Okay. I'm not gonna lie to you, I was high as hell, but I was not high enough to talk to the police without a lawyer. I am still my father's son, goddammit. So I have a court date next week."

"I thought it took...months, for a case to go to court."

"Dad's an attorney. Twisted a lot of arms. I'll probably have to plead guilty to the DUI to get the possession charge dropped. I just hope I get a good judge at the arraignment, 'cuz I do not want to be on probation for the next five fucking years."

 _How did everything change so quickly?_ This all must've happened only hours after Evan had left the Murphys' house yesterday. Connor had seemed so - comparatively - healthy, even cheerful.  _His moods must be like flash floods_ , Evan thought.  _They just change without warning_.

"Seems like you know a lot about it," Evan said.

Connor sighed. "This isn't my first rodeo." He shut his eyes again and pulled back his hair, as if to make a ponytail, then just gripped his own neck. "I fucked up. Between the car, and bail, and the fines...this is gonna cost more than a fucking funeral. I fucked up  _hard_."

"Your parents don't care how much it costs. They're probably just glad you're alive."

Connor made a strange sound, like a snorting, laughing sob.

Evan reached out to touch his shoulder - and hesitated, and stopped, his hand hovering in the air. He pulled back before Connor opened his eyes.

"Well, I'm glad you're alive," Evan said. "We still have to finish a story. It can't just stop in the middle."

Connor took off his sunglasses to rub his eyes. Evan saw they were red, raw, and puffy. He wondered if Connor was still high - if he had to self-medicate to get himself through another school day.

Then Connor slid his sunglasses back on. "Okay," he said. There were years of exhaustion in that "okay." 

Evan wished he could say more, but he had to move, or else he'd be late for calculus. "Will you tell me how the court date goes?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll subscribe you to my newsletter," Connor said over his shoulder. He left the restroom first.

Evan followed him out, but for the rest of the day, his palm burned from an ungiven touch.

***

A Facebook conversation.

 **Jared Kleinman [5:01 PM]:** How's the partnership with discount Kylo Ren going?

 **Evan Hansen [5:02 PM]:** It's going OK.

 **Evan Hansen [5:02 PM]:** Did you actually call him discount Kylo Ren?

 **Jared Kleinman [5:03 PM]:** He walked into Spanish today with a freakin' gash on his face. I couldn't not take the opportunity.

 **Evan Hansen [5:04 PM]:** That wasn't nice.

 **Jared Kleinman [5:05 PM]:** Dude. He can dish it out. I gave him that line, and the next thing I know he's asking me if I believe in God and telling me religion is all an "empty, fucking sham." 

 **Jared Kleinman [5:05 PM]:** Or at least I think that's what he said. It was all in Spanish.

 **Jared Kleinman [5:06 PM]:** And I'm like, whoa buddy, if I call you a name you can call me a poopyhead right back, but don't bring my people into it. That's like bringing a gun to a knifefight.

 **Evan Hansen [5:08 PM]:** He had a rough day yesterday. 

 **Jared Kleinman [5:09 PM]:** Big deal. People have rough days all the time without insulting entire religions.

 **Jared Kleinman [5:10 PM]:** Hope you survive the assignment. If he brings out a wonky lightsaber - run.

***

Dear Evan Hansen,

This week was - pretty good, actually.

First: I found an awesome new oak at the park on Saturday.

Also, I've met up with Connor a few times during lunch, to work on our story. He really hates how I write. He's a complete dick about it. But I don't mind for some reason. I know it's just because he really cares about making it good.

It's also nice having someone to eat with.

~~I kind of wish we could meet at his house so I could maybe see Zoe again, and not freeze up this time, but apparently things have been really rough with his family after the crash. I've only talked to him for like a week but I can see how he might be hard to live with. Being with Connor is probably like riding a roller coaster blindfolded. You never know when you're going to drop~~

What am I doing I can't tell Dr. Sherman that.

Sincerely,

Me

***

Dear Evan Hansen,

Did it freak you out to see that? Like "Oh my God, my letters have gained sentience, and they're writing back!"

Anyway. I said I'd let you know how the court date went. Pretty standard: big fine, suspended license, and fifty hours community service. That on top of the hundred hours we need to graduate means I've got a part-time job now, practically.

Also have a doctor's appointment. Having my meds checked. Again.

So to come to the point of this email: because of afore-mentioned appointment I'm missing English tomorrow, so do you think you could drop off whatever notes or homework we get at my house? I'll be at the blood bank on Saturday (making a dent in that service sentence), but probably my mom'll be home.

Thanks.

Sincerely,

CM

P.S. I just realized we both almost got killed by trees. We could be Tree Bros.

***

Evan wanted to point out the trees were blameless in their respective accidents. The trees hadn't asked to be climbed or crashed into. They had just stood there, soaking up sunlight and being the very best trees they could be.

Still, Evan was weirdly touched that Connor still cared (or was pretending to care) about missing class. Also, Friday was when their story was due. Evan had worked on it right up until the deadline; Connor had never read the final version. So on Saturday afternoon Evan dutifully drove over to Connor's house.

He parked in the driveway - thinking this would be a simple dropoff, ring the doorbell, say hello to Mrs. Murphy, pass over the class notes, and then leave, over in less than a minute - but before he rang, he could hear voices coming from inside.

Zoe and Mrs. Murphy were arguing. He couldn't hear her mother very well, but Zoe's voice was clear.

"No! I'm not getting him! We need to practice today for the rally tomorrow, and I'm not skipping it because of his stupid mistake!"

Some muffled response came through.

"It's not my fault he forgot his phone. I'm not his keeper! You could have asked me first, instead of assuming I'll just drop everything-"

Evan rang the doorbell. The voices stopped.

He'd thought about just driving away without interfering in a family argument - but then he thought maybe he could save Zoe from saying something regrettable to her mother. 

He heard some shuffling inside. Then Zoe swung the door open. "Evan? What is it?" 

"Sorry, I just came to drop off some-"

"Evan!" Mrs. Murphy called from inside. "Please, come in!"

He thought he saw Zoe roll her eyes, but she made way for Evan to enter - back into their magazine living room, as perfect as the last time he was there.

Zoe's mother was standing by the fireplace. She looked, Evan realized, like exactly the kind of woman who would own such a living room: a small, blond, aerobicized woman, wearing a long knit cardigan that made Evan think of yachts and champagne. But now she'd pulled its shawl collar tight, and her eyes were worried.

"Please sit down! You're Connor's friend from school, right?" He saw her eyes settle hopefully on his cast. "We've heard so much about you!"

Evan wasn't sure whether to sit or not. He decided against it. "I just brought some homework and notes from our English class...since Connor missed it yesterday...he, uh, said you'd be here..."

"So he's making an effort at school," Mrs. Murphy said. She gave Zoe an I-told-you-so look. Now Zoe definitely rolled her eyes. 

"He's - trying," Evan said. "I was going to drop these off because he said he'd be at the blood bank today-"

"I'm not picking him up, Mom," Zoe said.

So that was what the fight was about.

Math was one of Evan's better subjects. He made some quick calculations now. 

Attending practice was important to Zoe. (She wanted to have as little to do with her brother as possible, Evan was sure.) She and her mother were at loggerheads over this. But Evan could solve their problem. He could ease Zoe's burden, and then maybe she'd be so grateful that she'd...

"I can pick Connor up."

Mrs. Murphy actually clapped her hands. "Could you?"

"When does the blood bank close?"

"Five. Or was it six?"

"It's six," Zoe said.

Mrs. Murphy took Evan's hand in both of hers. "Oh, Evan, thank you so much! I'm so glad Connor has a friend he can rely on..."

Evan began to wonder if Connor had, perhaps, exaggerated how close they were to his parents. He wondered if it was a form of insurance for Connor to have a white bread, rule-following "friend." He wondered if that was why Connor had wanted him to stop by in the first place. 

In another moment Evan was ashamed of himself. Maybe Connor just wanted his homework. It didn't have to be more complicated than that. "I'm glad to help," Evan said.

Mrs. Murphy asked him more questions - she wanted to know about his AP classes, and was it true, Connor had told them Evan wanted to be a botanist one day? - until Zoe said, "Mom, you're torturing him." Her mom finally allowed Evan to go, but only after he promised to come back for dinner sometime next week. 

Zoe followed him out to the driveway. Evan had secretly hoped for this. He had almost never spoken to Zoe alone, but he'd seen her with her friends, and had often imagined what it might feel like to have a circle like that: to be at ease in a group of kind, well-meaning people, and to have one person in particular who knew and accepted all of you. He'd imagined speaking to her on some sunny day. He never imagined the words themselves - even in fantasy, he couldn't come up with a perfect speech to explain how he felt about her - but somehow she would understand him perfectly, and take him in, and be a friend to him.

But instead of a sunny day, thick, woolly clouds were gathering overhead, and instead of the bubbly gratitude he'd counted on, Zoe only folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself. "You didn't correct her," she said.

"About what?"

"When she called you his 'friend.' You didn't correct her."

"He is my friend. Or at least we're friendly. Or at least if he wanted to be friends I wouldn't turn him down." _Why does this bother you?_ he thought _. There's nothing wrong with your mom believing Connor has a friend. It makes her happy, it can't hurt her, and it's close enough to the truth anyway_.

"Yeah...I was afraid of that," Zoe said. She looked at his car as if the color made her sad, then said, "Don't get too close to Connor."

"What?"

She leaned against his car. "He has this thing, where every now and then he'll just - attach himself to someone. For a while they can do no wrong. And they ask me, 'Why doesn't he have any friends? He's so charming and clever and funny!' Until he turns on them. And then they ask what happened to that charming, clever guy they met, and I have to tell them no, he's just an asshole. That guy wasn't real." She looked down. "He used to be real. But there's less and less of him every year."

"Has that happened a lot?"

"To a bunch of stupid girls. And a few stupid guys."

"I'm not...stupid," Evan said, and Zoe instantly became flustered.

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"I'm not even driving as a favor to him," he blurted out. "It's a favor to you. So you can go to practice today."

Zoe became even more flustered, if anything. She started speaking very quickly. "Right, this week's going to be crazy, with homecoming. Sunday's the big pep rally. Monday the band has a fundraiser - we're all missing seventh period so we can set up at the Elks Lodge - so every rehearsal's really important-"

"Are you going to the dance?" Evan asked.

"I don't know, my friends and I were talking about it."

"Because-" Evan swallowed hard. This was it. This was the moment. He was positive his hands were slick with sweat. "If you were going, and you weren't going with anyone, then maybe you could go with - me?"

"Oh," Zoe said.

The longest second Evan had ever lived through passed.

"Sorry, but - if I went, I was planning to go with just my girl friends, you know? As a group?"

"Oh! No, of course! That's fine - I just thought that maybe, you know, since we've seen each other more, that maybe..."  _Shut up! Shut up, Evan!_ he thought to himself.

Zoe frowned and looked at her feet. "Just because you're doing me a favor, doesn't mean I have to date you."

"No!" Evan said. "I didn't mean that at all."

"Okay." Zoe looked at him again. She wasn't smiling. "You should go. The place's closing at five."

"I thought you said it was six."

"No," Zoe said flatly. "It's definitely five." She went back up the walkway to the house.

Evan turned away with his ears stinging red. He waited for the embarassment, the shame, the self-recrimination to all come flooding in and overwhelm him.

And they didn't.

He got back on the road with his heart feeling strangely light. He felt...relieved.

He'd asked, and been rejected. He didn't have to ask again. It was over. He was on the other side of it. 

It hadn't killed him.

There was relief in rejection. He hadn't known this. 

Evan tapped into his phone, put on Ben Folds' "Landed," and turned the volume way up on his way to the blood bank.

***

It was starting to drizzle by the time Evan arrived.

Connor was seated at the reception desk when Evan walked in. He was making a tiny dinosaur sculpture out of binder clips, and was about to add a stapler remover as the head when he saw Evan. "Evan!" The dinosaur lost its head. "What are you doing here?"

Evan dropped Connor's notes, homework, and the final draft of their story on the desk. "This is all yours. I passed by your house, but - your mom asked me to pick you up."

"Thanks," Connor said, opening the story. "What are you doing for an hour, then?"

 _Oh_. "Zoe said you close at five?"

"No, we don't close till six."

Evan glanced around the waiting room. What was he going to do? Read a magazine? Watch TV? He hadn't brought any schoolwork with him.

"Hey - if you're just going to be hanging out, have you ever given blood?"

"No."

Connor twirled a pen. "Want to?"

Evan's first instinct was  _No_. But then - why not? He'd just been rejected. He'd survived. He'd been brave enough to ask. He could save lives. He could do anything.

"...Okay."

Connor grabbed a clipboard. "Sit your ass down, I've got to ask you a bunch of invasive questions."

Evan sat in one of the waiting room chairs, at a little table. Connor dropped into the chair across from him. 

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"When'd you break your arm?"

"Uh - June. Early June."

"That's fine then." Connor ticked something off on the form. "On antibiotics?"

"No."

"Any tattoos or piercings? Pfft, why ask, I could cut myself on that straight edge of yours." Connor checked the 'No' box. "Currently pregnant or breastfeeding?"

Evan smiled. "No."

"Are you gay?"

Connor looked right at him. Evan suddenly realized that no one else in the foyer was being interviewed like this. Everyone else was quietly filling out the checklist alone, without help.

Evan kept his voice low. "Why would that matter?"

"Well really the question is, 'Have you had sex with a man in the past twelve months?' You're disqualified if you have."

"I've never done anything. With anyone," Evan said.

Evan thought Connor hesitated - maybe for only half a second, so briefly Evan could have imagined it, so quickly he couldn't tell if it was out of surprise or disappointment or even gladness - before turning to his clipboard again. "Guess you don't have syphilis then," Connor said, rapidly checking 'No' on all the listed STDs. "And I know you've never left the country, so you're good to go!" Connor handed him the checklist. "Turn that in, and the lovely ladies over there'll stick you full of needles."

After handing in his paperwork, a nurse led Evan to a small exam room to take his blood pressure and temperature, and then to a much larger room where the donations actually took place. He saw about half a dozen people lying on red medical recliners while their blood trickled into nearby bags. The sight struck him as a little strange and macabre - a little Matrix-y. He didn't like the thought of being hooked up to something.

The nurse eased him onto his own chair and tied a tourniquet around his good arm. She started rubbing his forearm with alcohol. "So you're friends with Connor!" she said perkily.

"We...know each other from school," he said, and winced as she pierced a needle into his arm. Watching was a mistake. He felt sweat break out on his forehead.

"Got it on the first try! You have good veins."

That was definitely a compliment Evan had never received before.

She had Evan tighten his hand into a fist a few times - to get the blood flowing, she said - then patted his arm. "This should take about ten minutes. Just relax, and let me know if you feel anything!"

 _Like what?_ Evan wondered, but didn't ask as she went off to help other donors. He really should have asked about side effects beforehand.

Evan craned his neck to see his own dark blood just begin to pool in the bag. Little aching twinges traveled down his arm, from the tourniquet to his fingers, as his arm started to go numb. He opened and closed his fist again. Maybe it would help the donation go faster.

Evan closed his eyes and started counting breaths. That sometimes helped to calm him. Not that he needed calming. Why would he need calming? He was saving lives! ( _There is a needle in my arm_.) He opened one eye to look at the bag again. It was barely filling. This was going to be a long ten minutes.

All right, think of something else. Think of something he liked.

_The second oldest tree in the world is called Methuselah. It's a bristlecone pine tree in the White Mountains in California. It's 5,000 years old, they say. But no one knows exactly where it is, except for the Forest Service. They have to keep the location secret, because if people knew where the tree was...they might hurt it._

_I always thought that was strange. That if there's anything good or precious in the world, someone will want to destroy it. It doesn't matter if a million people visit this tree, and love it, and do nothing to hurt it. It only takes one to cut it down. Maybe it's good that it's a secret then. Maybe it's good that most people don't know about it._

_I wonder if Methuselah ever gets lonely, though._

_Also, did you know: trees are the oldest living things on Earth. They never die of old age. They're like - elves in The Lord of the Rings._

_And you thought it was weird I keep photos of trees on my phone,_  Evan thought, and smiled.

Evan barely heard the nurse come back. His mind had slowly gone foggy. But he heard steps, and then the squishy sound of his blood bag being jostled. "You're almost finished here!" she said.

Evan turned his head to smile at her, and suddenly an inviting, pleasant darkness enveloped him, like sinking into warm waters.

***

Evan opened his eyes.

He was lying down on an exam table in a little, barely furnished room. The lights were dim and a fan was blowing softly.

The table's vinyl cover felt cool against his cheek. His head weighed a hundred pounds. For a moment he thought about closing his eyes again, until he saw he wasn't alone.

Connor was sitting in a folding chair - one leg up, heel resting on the edge of a counter. He tapped a pen against his slightly parted lips as he paged through the draft Evan had given him.

From where he was Evan had a perfect view of Connor's hands. They were long and slender, with the nails painted purple - yet not soft or feminine at all. Evan could see the blue veins rippling on their backs, the lines of Connor's bones. They looked like the kind of hands an artist would draw.

Connor was not yet conscious of being watched. For only a moment - taking in Connor's whole posture, the light behind him, his artless grace - he reminded Evan of the portrait on his copy of  _The Age of Innocence_ : aloof and elegant, luxurious and lonely, beautiful and never to be touched.

In the next moment the thought embarrassed Evan, and he shifted.

Connor heard him move. "Hey, you're alive." 

"What happened?"

"You passed out. Happens to a lot of donors. They asked me to watch you for a while." Connor scribbled something on the paper. "Why doesn't Anthea kill the dragon the first time they meet?"

"I needed to change some of your  part so the ending makes sense."

"This doesn't sound like me," Connor said, looking through the first section. "Jeez, you can't imitate my voice worth shit."

"Connor," Evan said, "every time you read my writing, you're always such a...dick."

Connor laughed. He folded the paper, stuck the pen behind his ear, and stood up. "Anyway, we've got to pump you full of fluids. It's unlimited cookie time!"

He held out a hand as if Evan needed help sitting up. Evan was pretty sure he could stand without support, but he took Connor's arm anyway. A wave of lightheadedness passed over him as he sat upright.

"You okay?" Connor asked. 

The world wobbled back into focus. "Yeah...yeah, I'm fine."

Connor kept a hand flat on Evan's back as Evan eased onto his feet. He was being much gentler than Evan expected. Once Evan was standing, he nearly regretted the loss of the reassuring warmth of Connor's hand near his waist.

Connor wasn't joking about unlimited cookies. The other volunteers gave Evan as much liquid as he could hold. After a few minutes he began to feel a lot better. 

In the meantime Connor was busy helping close down the blood bank - packing away the food, turning off lights, wiping down the snack counter. Finally he shut off the TV in the cafe. 6 PM - time to go. 

Evan assumed he'd drive Connor straight home, but Connor came up and asked, "Do you have somewhere you need to be?"

"No, not really." His mom had a late shift tonight; she wouldn't be home until nearly midnight.

"Okay," Connor said. He took out a flip phone from his backpack. "Want to go somewhere?"

"Where?"

Connor was texting someone. Evan stared - he knew Connor owned a smartphone, and Evan hadn't seen a flip phone in years at least. The phone beeped softly in reply. Connor smiled and slipped it back into his bag. "I'll give you directions."


	3. Chapter 3

The drizzle had turned into a steady rain by the end of Connor's shift at the blood bank. Neither of them had brought an umbrella - they had to run to Evan's car.

Once they were inside Connor immediately reached for Evan's phone in the cup holder. Evan had minded the first time Connor did this. Now, it didn't bother him. He even expected it.

"Where are we going?"

"Just turn left out of the parking lot, right on Bowman Street, and go straight till I tell you to turn," Connor said. He tapped into Evan's photo gallery. "Hey, new tree pictures."

"That was one I found in Newberry Park last weekend. I took a picture so I could identify it later. Turns out it's a willow oak, which is  _way_  different from any other oak I've seen. See, its leaves are more like spears, while most oak leaves have a lot of lobes or spikes."

"That's interesting," Connor said, and Evan was surprised. It sounded like he meant it. "How's your data plan?"

That was an extremely suspicious question. "Uh...can't you use your own phone?"

"No," Connor said flatly.

"I only get one gig a month."

"That's fine - I won't go over." He opened Safari. "You need to listen to this Spotify playlist."

Evan looked at it once they were at a stoplight. The playlist was titled, "The Miseducation of Evan Hansen," and its description read, "A playlist for Evan Hansen, whose taste in music is woefully bland, and who must be exposed to the classics of our culture before he dies a kissless virgin."

The playlist image was an acorn.

"Oh come on," Evan said.

"Your education is a sacred trust," Connor said. "Look, we're gonna start easy. Everything begins with the Beatles."

Connor pressed 'Play.'

He might've claimed they were starting easy, but the playlist jumped from the Beatles to Led Zeppelin to Jeff Buckley, with Connor pointing out on each one what to listen for. Evan had heard all the songs before, on the radio or in a commercial someplace, but he'd never really listened to them. When Connor explained how the guitar and strings simulated a lift-off in "Space Oddity" - how the duet of lower and higher voices represented not just ground control speaking to Major Tom, but the astronaut's desire to untether himself and drift off into the void - Evan started to understand there was so much more going on than he'd known before.

In a quieter moment, as Bob Marley sang his redemption song, Evan said, "I know Zoe loves music, but I didn't know you did too."

"We both do, but she got all the talent," Connor said. He didn't sound jealous. He sounded - proud. Like he was bragging about her a little bit. Evan had never seen that quiet half-smile on Connor's face before.

Maybe now was a good time to ask, "Why do you have a flip phone?"

"Because I needed one," Connor said, instantly defensive.

"Sorry - just - making conversation..." Evan said quickly.

Connor looked at him hard for a moment, then softened. He turned to look out his window. When Evan glanced at him, he saw Connor was slowly tracing constellations from the raindrops on his window.

"Because my other phone has a tracker on it," Connor said. "My parents want to know where I am at all times. Just like they read my emails. Or go through my iPad. The trick," he continued, "is not to let them know I know."

"So...they could track where you are right now?"

"I 'forgot' my phone at home," Connor said. "I 'forget' my phone a lot."

Evan had a sudden thought. "So they don't know where you are. And you won't tell me where we're going..."

Connor turned to look straight at him. "Yes, Evan," he said clearly. "I am going to murder you."

Evan snapped his head towards him, and Connor broke out into laughter.

"That wasn't funny."

Coonor wiped his eyes, grinning. "Oh, man. Aren't you just a gullible little puppy. I'm amazed you haven't been sucked up by some cult. Hey, turn left here."

"Here?" Connor's directions had taken them out of town. On one side, Evan saw a dense grove of trees; on the other side, he only saw empty fields. There wasn't even a road to turn on - just a bald patch of ground where vehicles might've gone before.

"Yes, here, into the field."

Evan made the turn - but also thought that if Connor intended to murder him, a field outside of town at dusk was a good place to do it.

"Keep going - and yeah, there it is."

Evan saw a chain link fence. Behind it was a building that had once been white. It looked vaguely Grecian - with columns and a small dome - but its windows were boarded up and vegetation grew all around it.

"What is this place?" Evan asked as Connor unbuckled. 

"An old train station. It was abandoned back in the fifties." Connor dug into his backpack. To Evan's surprise, Connor quickly twisted his hair up, secured it with a metal clip, and hid it all under a wide bolero hat. He took out something - like a tiny notebook, or a large pad of post-it notes - and slipped it into his pocket. Finally he put on a pair of sunglasses before opening his car door. "Come on, I want to show you around."

It had stopped raining. The earth smelled rich and damp. Evan felt he could almost smell the plants growing.

They were also very, very alone. There were no lights anywhere. Evan could hear the drip-drop of rainwater sliding off of leaves, the twittering of evening birds, and the soft  _whoosh_  of cars passing far, far away. 

The chain link fence had a clear entrance, but it was padlocked shut. Connor didn't go to the lock. Instead he went to the left and began feeling along the fence with his fingers.

In a minute Evan saw he found what he was looking for. Someone had cut into the fence with bolt cutters, creating a slit just large enough for a thin person to squeeze through. Connor slid in, then peeled the fence back for Evan.

Evan hesitated. "I don't think we're supposed to be here?"

"We're not  _supposed_  to be anywhere," Connor said, and when that philosophical statement failed to win Evan over, said, "Look, you're not going to get in trouble. No one even knows you're here."

Considering his options were either going forward with it, or going back to the car and being a wet blanket, Evan felt he had no choice. He passed through the opening in the fence.

Now that they were closer, Evan could make out the sinuous lines of old railway tracks in the grass. Rusted-over signal lights still stood sentry over the rails. But Connor went straight to the doors of the abandoned station. "Check this out," Connor said, and pushed the doors open. 

Evan said, "Whoa."

A weirdly abstract, spacey chandelier hung from the tin ceiling. Funnels of glass streaked up from a brass circle like the tails of rocket ships. The waiting room seats were covered in dust, and a few letters still remained on the Departures board, announcing trains that had long gone and would never return.

Evan stepped in after Connor. The small station smelled dusty and damp. Cracks snaked through the faux marble floors, and little spots of mold hid in corners in the ceiling. But even those signs of decay gave the station a kind of ghostly grace.

"This is my favorite part," Connor said. He pointed at a mural on the waiting room wall.

Evan wasn't too educated in art, but even he could tell the mural was incredibly strange. The main focal point was an enormous angel, painted in a rainbow of colors that were still bright even now. Decades ago it must have looked psychedelic. At the angel's feet was a train, apparently streaking over a bridge as fast as a bullet.

_So this is where the angel in the story came from._

"Who would put this on a train station wall?"

"I don't know! There's a whole story here we'll never know," Connor said. "I like abandoned places. I like that no one else knows about this...that it takes a certain person to know why it's special."

"Like Methuselah in the White Mountains," Evan said.

"What?"

Evan explained the story. When he finished, Connor asked, "You said second oldest. What's the oldest tree?"

"It's in the same range, but it doesn't have a name."

"Jeez," Connor said. "It's even lonelier then. At least people are thinking about Methuselah."

Evan listened to rain trickle off the station's roof, the squeak and scuffle of hidden mice - or maybe bats - high in the walls, and thought about the forgotten muralist, whoever he or she was. "At least we know it's here, if no one else does."

"See," Connor said after a moment. "I knew...or I hoped you'd appreciate it."

"Are there other places like this?"

"A ton. There's the Navarro Mansion that was condemned last year. There's the Zieliński Bridge - people say it's haunted from all the suicides there. There's an orchard..." he trailed off.

His flip phone had chirped softly. Connor checked it. "I'm gonna go out for a second. Stay in here."

"What? Where are you going?"

" _Out_ ," Connor repeated. "Stay in here."

After Connor had stepped outside, Evan checked the windows. They were boarded up, but there were cracks between the moldy slats - large enough to see through, if Evan hunched over. 

Evan watched Connor walk along the train tracks. Some distance away from the station, Evan made out the shadowy outlines of a man wearing a baseball cap.

Connor took something out of his pocket and gave it to the man, who gave him something in return. That was all. Then Connor walked back to the station.

His hat was covered in raindrops when he came back in. "Starting to rain again. We should probably go."

Evan wasn't sure what to ask - if he was allowed to ask, or if Connor would answer him. 

Once they were back in the car Connor took off his hat, unclipped his hair, and then handed Evan four grimy hundred dollar bills. "Here you go! That should cover your tail light."

Evan looked at the money, but didn't reach out for it. "What was that?"

"Remember my doctor's appointment yesterday? Stole a pad. Just sold it. Opioid addicts always need to forge prescriptions. By the way, stay off of OxyContin if you can, that shit'll fuck you up."

Evan's head was buzzing. In one day, Connor had been kind. Connor had taken him to a place that was important to him. And now - Connor had done this. "That's - wrong. You shouldn't have done that."

Connor snorted. Then, seeing Evan was serious, his expression changed to disbelief. "Seriously? You're lecturing me on right and wrong?"

"I'm not lecturing, I'm just saying you shouldn't steal from your doctor-"

"Dude, you lied to keep Zoe out of trouble. I stole to keep you out of trouble. What's the fucking difference?"

Evan was momentarily stumped. "What I did isn't illegal."

"Oh please. You'll need to try harder than that."

Evan started the car and backed up. "No really, you could get in a lot of trouble, and it hurts people down the line, you know?"

"I didn't realize we were filming a D.A.R.E. commercial." Connor shut the money inside the glove compartment and put his feet up on the dashboard. He looked at Evan out of the corner of his eye. "Are you serious? Like you're for real, no-bullshit upset about this?"

"Yes!"

"Okay," Connor said. "Then I won't do it again." He gave Evan a little salute. "Scout's honor."

Evan wasn't sure if he could trust Connor's promises. He wasn't even sure if that scout's salute was sarcastic or not. But the promise made him feel better anyway, even if it was a lie. 

They didn't talk much on the ride back. The rain grew heavier as they drove, only lightening again once they were close to Connor's house. 

Evan pulled up to the curb. Connor gathered up his things.

Evan tried to think of something to say - some combination of "Thank you for showing me the station" and "Wow, you really like music" and "Stop committing crimes, because if you end up in juvenile hall we can't hang out anymore." Something that would cover all of that. But nothing came to mind. Connor didn't seem like the type to be compelled by sincerity.

But now that their English assignment was finished, he needed something - some excuse - to see him again. So as Connor unlocked his door Evan blurted out, "Are you going to any of the homecoming events?"

"The what?"

"You know. Homecoming Week."

"Oh right! The annual School Wank-off. I forgot all about it."

Evan charged on ahead. "We could go to the pep rally tomorrow? If you want?"

Connor looked like he was about to laugh, but something stopped him. He read Evan's face, and soon his own eased into a smile. A slow,  _Well-I'll-be_  kind of smile. "Okay. Why not?"

"Okay." Evan sat back - then remembered the money in the glove compartment. "Wait, what about-?"

"It's yours!" Connor said, getting out of the car.  

"But what'll I tell my mom?"

"I dunno. Lie to her. You should be good at it by now!" Connor shut the car door. 

Evan waited till Connor reached the front door before backing up. He drove off feeling lighter.

One day. The perfect girl had rejected him, but someone else hadn't, and now tomorrow they had a da-

Evan slammed on the brakes at a four-way intersection. The car behind him honked, stopping inches behind. Evan carefully looked both ways before rolling past the stop sign.

 _Not a date_. This was not a date. They were hanging out. They were people, and hanging out was a thing that people did. Not to complete an assignment, not as a favor, but just to spend time together. Like friends.

Was Connor his friend? Evan had a feeling that if he confessed anything serious to Connor, Connor'd be a complete smartass about it. But then again, maybe not. It was hard to tell with him.

If he was honest with himself, Evan also knew there was something in his interactions with Connor that went beyond ordinary friendship. He had very little to compare it to. Looking back over their short time together, he couldn't list a single thing that was more than platonic. But this didn't feel the way he imagined friendship to be. It was somehow more delicate, more nerve-wracking, more portentous than simple companionship.

Evan was still afraid of Connor, but for different reasons. He was afraid that Connor's bad decisions would come back to bite him one day. Even more so, he was afraid that if he looked at this - whatever  _this_  was - for too long, some calamity would ensue.  He had to approach it like a basilisk, reflecting in mirrors or out the corner of his eye, because of what might happen if he stared at it directly.

There was something he wanted. He was scared to ask what it was.

***

Evan's mom was delighted by the sudden windfall. She was, if anything, even more delighted that Evan had helped Connor refurbish some old game consoles to sell on eBay, and this was his honest cut. (Or so he told her.)

"I didn't know old Playstations went for that much money!"

"Yeah, they're like...collector's items," Evan said, sweating.

"I'll make an appointment right now! You can take the car to the mechanic's tomorrow." She leaned back, smiling. "So you and Connor, huh? Seems like you're becoming pretty good friends."

He shrugged. "I guess." As usual, the actual situation was far too complicated to explain.

After that she was happy to drop Evan off at school so he could attend the pep rally with his supposedly-good-friend Connor. Attending homecoming events! Making new friends! ...Not going on a quasi-date with a juvenile delinquent who'd somehow managed to commit at least three misdemeanors since the school year began. No, not that at all.

Since Zoe was performing with the band at the rally, Evan didn't have to pick Connor up. Instead they'd agreed to meet outside the school's stadium. 

The place was already half full when Evan arrived. There'd been a homecoming parade through the town's shopping district earlier that afternoon, and he could see the homemade floats sitting in the school parking lot. The floats' vinyl fringe swayed limply in the breeze like the fur on wet, abandoned sheepdogs.

Connor was waiting for him near the gate. He held a full plastic bag in one hand. 

For some reason Evan was nervous to see him again. He was always nervous when he saw Connor, actually - afraid that this time he'd say something to set Connor off. Especially since this time they were only meeting to enjoy each other's company. That meant Evan had to be enjoyable. 

He felt like he was going to throw up. 

Then Connor looked up and spotted him, and Evan felt - not less nervous, but better. Like the nerves before a roller coaster, instead of the nerves before a job interview.

"Hey," Connor said. His smile was a little weary, but mostly sarcastic. "Apparently we're committing a faux pas. Completely forgot to wear my red and gold today."

Evan hadn't even thought about wearing the school colors. Now he saw most people were wearing mostly red. One girl had red and gold ribbons woven in her braids; another had red and gold glitter all over her cheeks and arms. 

"I don't think I ever bought a school hoodie, or anything."

"Really? You weren't planning to break out the face paint and pom poms?" Connor slung the plastic bag over his shoulder as they headed in, joining the stream of students and families entering the stadium. "Maybe that's why we feel out of place. We're going to school with a bunch of Gryffindors."

Evan noted the casual inclusion of that 'we.' 

The bottom rows of the bleachers were full. Evan hadn’t expected the rally to be this popular, but he could see families and faculty – even his classmates Pete and Tim – squeezed close together in the rows. Still, there was a lot of space towards the top, at the far end of the field. Connor led the way there. He scoped out a spot several yards away from any other students. 

Evan wasn't sure of the angle. "Do you think we'll see everything from here?"

"Eh, who knows. Anyway, I brought snacks!"

Connor plopped his bag down and spread out on the bleachers, lounging like one of the more degenerate Roman emperors, while Evan sat down nearby and gingerly opened the bag. He blinked. 

"What the hell?" he said finally.

"I just took whatever was in the kitchen," Connor said.

Evan took out each package one by one. "'Organic kale quinoa chips'? 'Spicy chipotle seaweed'? 'Cricket flour protein cookies'? What is this stuff?"

"Pretty sure it's the finest Whole Foods has to offer."

"The finest they offer is  _bug flour_?"

Connor grinned. "Maybe you need to expand your palate."

"Maybe you need to learn about Slim Jims and Cheetos," Evan said. He opened the box of gluten-free hempseed brownies, as the least offensive choice.

The rally started. 

Evan and Connor sat through a speech by the principal ("God damn, woman, it's a pep rally, not a State of the Union address"), a cheerleader dance routine ("I bet I could do that flip." "You'd break your arm." "We could be twiiins!"), and an overamplified song by the jazz band ("Hey, it's Zoe! HEY ZOE! KILL 'EM DEAD, KID!") before Connor sat back and said, "It's kind of lame, isn't it?"

Evan had worried so much about Connor not enjoying himself that now that he knew it, he relaxed. "I'm glad you said it first." He took another piece of seaweed. "My mom said it was good back in the nineties, when they'd have a huge bonfire right in the football field. But then someone fell in and got third degree burns, so we can't do that anymore."

"Jeez. What I wouldn't give to see the field light up like a flambé."

Connor was sitting very close to him. He'd draped himself over two rows of bleachers, but his head was next to Evan's leg, almost resting against his thigh. It was like sitting next to the sun, all of a sudden. Evan was aware of every part of him that was close to Connor. He wasn't sure whether to move or not. 

Instead he cleared his throat and grabbed onto the last thing Connor had said. "I took French," he said, "for the foreign language requirement."

Connor looked up at him. "Really?"

"I'm not good at it, because you're supposed to practice speaking outside of class and I...didn't."

"Say something in French."

Evan thought quickly. "I can say...'Où est-ce que je peux trouver la gare, s’il vous plaît ?'"

Connor laughed. "Wow. I am - so turned on right now."

Evan felt his cheeks grow warm.

He thought Connor was about to say, or do, something else when he heard a yell over the music from the field: "PRETZELS! GET YOUR PRETZELS HERE!"

Jared was making his way down the rows, carrying a box of small personal snacks high.

"OREOS! CHEESE PUFFS! Thank you ma'am, that'll be five dollars. PRETZELS - Evan?"

Jared had spotted them. Connor stayed still, but Evan immediately scooted a few inches away on the bench.

"I didn't know you were coming! With...ah..."

Jared seemed to just recognize that Evan and Connor were apparently together. Evan remembered how their last meeting had went. His blush deepened, but from a different kind of embarrassment.

"Hey," Connor said, and straightened a little. "Look, I'm sorry I called your god an invisible sky wizard. I've never met Him, but I'm sure He's very nice."

Jared raised an eyebrow.

"No, really, I'm serious. Friends?" Connor offered a hand.

Jared glanced at Evan, then finally gave in. "I'll take 'casual acquaintances,'" Jared said, and balanced his box on one shoulder to shake Connor's hand.

Evan was relieved. "Are you allowed to vend here?"

"Anything's allowed if no one stops you," Jared said, and Connor smirked. For a second Evan regretted that Jared and Connor would never be better friends. Then he wondered why all his friends were smartasses.

He was happy enough about the handshake, however, to help Jared's business along. "I'll take the Oreos."

"Sure, it's three dollars."

"What? It's like a dollar at the store."

"I'm trying to turn a profit here! Or are you some kind of dirty Communist?"

"I've got you-" Connor started, but Evan interrupted, "No, it's fine, I think I have some ones." 

Evan retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. While he searched for small bills, Jared laughed. "Come on, man, you could've let your boyfriend treat you."

Evan dropped his wallet.

It slipped out of his hands. To his horror, it bounced off the footrest and fell under the seat, disappearing somewhere below the bleachers. 

"I'll get it!" Connor said, rising and bounding down the rows like a dog after a ball. 

Jared looked confused. "I wasn't serious-"

"I need to help him - could you watch our stuff for a second?" Evan asked, getting up quickly. As he raced to follow where Connor went, he belatedly realized that it was pointless asking Jared to watch their things. No one was going to steal their bug cookies anyway.

Evan had never been beneath the bleachers before. The afternoon sun filtered through the rows and striped the ground with light. Thin steel support beams criss-crossed under the stands, creating geometric shadows that made the place cool and dark - like being underwater. No one else was here. It felt like a secret space, behind the stage, unseen.

Connor was already in the place where Evan's wallet had fallen. He  picked it up from the ground. The wallet was thin and shabby - years old, with the fake leather worn off the edges. Connor considered it. "You have like nothing in here."

"Yeah, that's...how it is, usually," Evan said. He realized now why he'd run after Connor. He'd hoped to reach his wallet before Connor, somehow. He'd hoped Connor wouldn't have to see it.

Something exciting was clearly happening on the field. From beneath the bleachers, all Evan could see were people's ankles, but a whoop was rising from the audience. They stomped thunderously on the aluminum decking. 

Connor handed Evan his wallet back. Evan stuffed it into his pocket, but once his good hand was free Connor grabbed his wrist.

"Evan, listen-"

He said something else, but Evan couldn't hear him. The cheers reverberated all around them, like a wave crashing into Evan's ears.

Even if he couldn't make out the words, he was aware of how far apart they were - just an arm's length away - and that Connor had a strange look in his eyes, as if he'd just recognized Evan from a distance after a long time apart. Something sad. And eager. And - hungry.

"What?" Evan said, and couldn't even hear himself.

Connor said something that might've been, "Fuck it."

He took a step forward before Evan thought to step back. The distance disappeared, and Connor's mouth was on his.

Evan stumbled back in surprise and hit a steel beam. Connor grabbed his arm to steady him - then gripped both his arms, then cupped his head, all while kissing him over and over, hard and hungrily, as if Evan was water and he was dying of thirst.

Evan grabbed Connor's side - and wasn't sure, suddenly, whether he meant to pull him closer or push him away. The smell of Connor's hair - that pomegranate-lavender thing, he remembered - went straight to his head, to his blood, like a drug he'd inhaled. He could feel Connor's body was pulled taut as a string, vibrating with want.

Connor was kissing him so hard Evan almost couldn't breathe. He was suffocating-

Evan pushed him - hard.

"Get  _off_  me!" 

Connor staggered back. Evan saw him now - lips red, eyes wide. He saw surprise. 

He saw pain.

"Wait-" Evan said, but Connor had already turned around. He was running away.

Evan could have run after him. Instead he stood paralyzed against the steel understructure. His lips were as numb as his heart.

The applause faded, and a single trumpet from the marching band started to play. Evan slid down the beam till he was sitting on the floor. 

What had he done?


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Evan Hansen,

What did you do? 

I don't need to describe what happened today because you're me, so you already know everything, but what the hell did you do?

Did you want that to happen? If you did, why did you stop it? If you didn't, why did you let him start?

What are you?

Weren't you in love with a girl literally _yesterday_? (Or were you just infatuated because she's nice and pretty and you never talked to her so what do you even know about her, really?) Is this a one-time exception? Are you gay? Or bi? Did you manage to live seventeen years without realizing that?

Are you just so starved for attention you'll take it from anyone? 

Who are you? What do you want?

What do you want?

Sincerely,

Me 

(whoever that is)

***

Evan texted Connor twice that evening. He typed up a long email, spent an hour deleting and retyping sentences, and finally erased most of it and sent a single paragraph.

Connor didn't reply.

Evan texted him again in the morning. At school he saw him, briefly, right before homeroom - a hoodie with Cthulu on the back - at the end of the hall, walking away from him.

Four periods. Connor didn't reply.

Evan didn't know what to do. Say nothing? Try to find him at lunch? What if Connor never spoke to him again? Evan felt desperate to explain himself - but he didn't know what there was to explain, exactly. He didn't know what he'd say to Connor even if they were in the same room together. He just felt that, somehow, if he could be face-to-face with Connor again - if they could converse for a few minutes - everything would sort itself out. 

The lunch bell rang. Heart pounding, Evan went to Connor's locker, thinking maybe Connor would leave his books behind before heading off campus.

Connor wasn't there.

Evan was wondering where else to look when someone grabbed his arm. He turned - it was Jared.

"Hey, you got an extra dollar on you? 'Cuz I need a coke, and the machine's cash-only today."

Evan fished in his pocket. "Uh, yeah...Actually-" He hesitated before handing Jared the crumpled bill. "Could I talk to you for a second?"

"If it's a second. I'm going to Taco Bell for lunch, and those lines get  _long_."

"Wait, if you're going out, why do you need to buy a coke here?"

Jared rolled his eyes. "Because Taco Bell only has Pepsi, obviously."

They walked to the vending machine. Evan nearly had to jog to keep up with Jared's no-nonsense pace. "It's...it's about Connor."

Jared laughed. "Let me guess. He found out you like his sister, so now you need plastic surgery and a fake ID."

"No, nothing like that..."

They reached the vending machine. As Jared smoothed out the dollar bill against the glass, Evan took a deep breath. "Yesterday, under the stands, when we went to get my wallet, he...he...kissed me," he finished in a whisper.

Jared had been feeding the bill to the machine. Now his head whipped towards Evan. The machine spat the bill back out. "Holy shit!" 

"Keep your voice down!"

Jared stooped down to catch the bill before it fluttered to the floor. "Holy  _shit_!" he repeated in a whisper. "Was he  _high_?"

"No, he wasn't high, why does everyone think he's on drugs all the time? He doesn't even smoke that much, really, but everyone acts like he's a crackhead or-"

"Dude, shut up for a second." The soda clattered down to the bin, where Jared scooped it up. He continued in a low voice, "So he kissed you, and then what? Did you punch him?"

"Now he won't return my texts, and I don't know what to do."

Jared shook his head as if a spider had just landed on him. "WHAT?"

"I've texted him like three times-"

"Oh my God, aren't you straight? Have you - or have you not - been in love with Zoe Murphy for the past year? Or is everything I know a lie?"

"I..." Evan said. "I don't know."

They started walking towards the parking lot. "You're in love with both the Murphy siblings now? Oh, I get it! It's like Betty and Veronica! Only way more fucked up!" Jared laughed, then immediately sobered. "You know this is a terrible idea, right?"

"Why is it a terrible idea?"

"Oh my God, you've lost your mind," Jared said, and opened his bottle. He took a swig of soda. "First of all, Connor Murphy is a  _psychopath_ -"

"He's not a psychopath-"

Jared rolled his eyes again. "Fine, maybe he's bipolar, or borderline, or maybe he's just an asshole, but the point is he's been a dick to everyone and everything since second grade."

"He isn't to me."

" _Secondly_ ," Jared said, "what the hell do you and Rule 63 Wednesday Addams have in common, anyway? Besides being miserable?"

"We talk about a lot of things! He even listens when I-"

"What if you break up with him? He'll probably murder you."

"He's not going to hurt me."

"He shoved you in the hallway two weeks ago!" Jared said. "Or let me guess, that was  _different_. You  _provoked_  him. And from now on if you're  _careful_ , he won't hurt you. As long as you do everything he wants and never, ever annoy him. Right?" 

They reached Jared's car. "It's not like that," Evan said. "I mean yes, he's troubled, he has issues, but he's more than that, he loves books, and music, he's smart, and he has so many thoughts about-"

Jared turned around to face Evan. "Did you even want to kiss him?"

Evan stopped short. Jared kept looking at him. The seconds stretched.

Evan said, "Not...at first..."

Jared looked heavenward again. "Oh God, you're going to end up on Dateline. I'm going to get interviewed by Lester Holt. I can already see it." He opened the driver side door.

"Wait, you didn't answer my question. I've been trying to reach him, but he hasn't replied yet, and I don't know if I should try again or-"

Jared sighed. "Okay. First of all, don't double-text. Makes you look desperate. Secondly, have you tried, I don't know, calling him?"

Evan blanched. "I hate talking on the phone."

"Yeah, so you want to talk to him, without actually talking to him. Cry me a goddamn river, Hansen." Jared got into his car. "Thanks for the dollar. Also, after Connor murders you, please haunt me so I can say 'I told you so.'"

"Don't tell anyone!" Evan said as he started to back up.

"No one cares about your dumb love life, man!" Jared said as he peeled out.

***

Evan was nearly nauseated by nerves before the English class he shared with Connor. The nerves were for nothing, however: Connor wasn't there. 

Evan was positive he'd seen him that morning. Maybe he'd skipped English to avoid Evan. 

It was impossible to pay attention in his afternoon classes. In English, he said that Dante had written  _Paradise Lost_. In calculus, he gummed up an integration by forgetting a minus sign. In chemistry, he accidentally poured a solution into the sink instead of a test tube, ruining the experiment. By the time the final bell rang he was more than ready for the day to be over.

He didn't know if Connor was still on campus - if he'd skipped just English or everything after lunch. He did know that Connor probably wouldn't reply to more texts or emails. 

He hadn't tried calling him yet.

Evan hated -  _hated_  - talking on the phone, and Connor knew that. But if he did something difficult...maybe that would prove to Connor how badly he wanted to speak with him. 

If he was going to try this, he needed privacy. And he needed to do it fast - if he waited till he got home, he knew he'd lose his nerve.

The band room would be empty. Often they had rehearsals that extended past school hours, but he remembered Zoe had told him the bands were traveling for a fundraiser today. As streams of chatting, laughing students passed him to get to the parking lot, Evan slipped into the unlocked rehearsal room and closed the door behind him.

The 'click' of the closing door echoed in the empty room. Evan felt very exposed. The ceiling was high, and the room was large and well-lit. Evan wanted someplace small and dark - somewhere he could hide. 

The band closet. 

The rehearsal room had a large closet - really a room onto itself - where they stored music and percussion instruments. Evan could see its door on the other side of the room, next to some music stands and an old bassoon. He made his way there now.

 _Yes_ , he thought when he closed the last door. This was safe. This was insulated. He was alone; no one would hear him.

The silence was so complete it rang in his ears. He took out his phone, brought up Connor's number-

And stared at the number.

And stared some more, his finger hovering over the "Call" button.

_I'm going to do it. People call people every day. It's fine. It's nothing. It's OH MY GOD EVAN just press the damn button!_

He pressed it.

He breathed in deep as he listened to the ringing. Four rings. Connor didn't pick up. "Please leave a message after the tone."

 _Beep_.

He was on. He had to say something.

"Hi, Connor. It's Evan. I mean of course you know it's me because you probably saw my name when you looked at your voicemail-" God, he was rambling again.  _Cut to the chase, Hansen_. "Anyway. Uh. I wanted to say sorry for...yesterday. It's not that I don't like you, I was just surprised when you - uh - you know. So can we talk? Not that this has to be like a 'define the relationship' talk, I don't mean that, I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend or whatever, but I just think we should talk about - things. I'm inside the band room right now. If you want to...talk." He cringed. "So - bye. For now."

Evan ended the call and immediately banged his head against the wall. He groaned. That was about the least persuasive voice mail he could have left. Evan sat down by the kettledrums for a minute, maybe two, as if the shadows could hide him.

He heard rustling behind him.

Evan sat up. Was that a rat? A raccoon?

A person?

He turned around.

Two figures emerged from behind the bass drums and xylophones - well-hidden in the dark this whole time.

Pete. The boy with a face like a map of the Himalayas. And his friend, Tim, who could have been a mountain.

They must have heard everything.

"Hey," Pete said. "Are you that cocksucker Connor's new guy?"

They had definitely heard everything.

Words tripped over themselves in the rush to escape Evan's mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about - Connor's new guy? I'm no one's guy. I didn't even know he had an old guy."

"You just said you wanted to be his boyfriend, dipshit."

"Okay, that is not what I said-"

Tim looked more cautious, but Pete was as wound up as an angry chihuahua. "Then you won't mind when we ruin your fucking  _face_."

Evan had enough time to begin a thought - that he was pretty sure anyone would mind their face being ruined, regardless of the circumstance - but not enough to end it, before Pete's fist came crashing into his cheek.

Evan staggered back. He had never been in a fight in his life - had never been hit on purpose before - and now he was more shocked than in pain, even though his cheek throbbed. "What the hell?!"

Another punch followed, and Evan was on the floor. He curled into ball on the ground, knees at his chin, hands over his face, while kicks rained down on his back as palpable as bursts of light.

"Help!" Evan said. His cries sounded pathetic even to himself, but he couldn't do anything else - couldn't hit back, couldn't even stand. But who could possibly hear him in the empty practice room? Who would come for him when the school day was over, and almost everyone had left campus? "Help-"

He realized suddenly: no one could hear him. If he couldn't fight back, all he could do was wait it out - wait until they grew tired of hitting him. The realization stung worse than the blows on his back.

No one would help him. No one was coming for him. 

Evan had just resigned to this when the door opened with a sudden BANG.

"Hey shitheads!"

Evan opened his eyes and winced at the light. The door was still shaking: someone had kicked it open. Evan saw a silhouette. Long hair. Combat boots. And a bassoon. 

"Wha-?" Pete asked. 

Connor didn't reply. Instead he swung the bassoon like a baseball bat and hit Pete square in the jaw. 

The bassoon dented in, and Pete crumpled on the floor. 

Tim seemed as stunned as Evan by Connor's entrance, but he quickly recovered and lunged at Connor. Tim slammed Connor against the shelves like a quarterback tackling a practice dummy. Tambourines rattled, books toppled over, and sheet music fluttered to the floor. 

Tim was huge, while Connor was tall but slender. Tim had the advantage in size. But Connor had the advantage of being batshit crazy.

Shoved against the wall, Connor rammed his head into Tim's chest. Tim got him into a headlock - but instead of struggling against him Connor bit him viciously on the wrist.

"Fuck!" Tim said. Evan saw a dribble of blood. Tim let go for just a moment, and Connor took the opportunity to grab his head and tumble him to the floor. Tim landed on his stomach with Connor on top of him. With some weird warrior cry, Connor grabbed Tim's legs and forced them back so Tim's heels touched his spine, folding in on himself. Tim barked in pain. 

In the meantime Pete had recovered. He lurched to his feet, using the timpani for support. 

Evan grabbed Pete's ankle. Pete shook him off, reared back, and kicked Evan in the face.

Evan felt his lip split open. He brought a hand immediately to his mouth, tasting blood.

"Connor-!"

Connor was on his feet - he'd seen Pete coming. Connor grabbed onto a shelf and kicked over a vibraphone.

The instrument fell onto Pete in a euphonious cascade, bars scattering on the ground. Pete stumbled backwards, onto the timpani, and collapsed on the floor while the drum rang.

Connor grabbed Evan's hand and pulled him up. "Let's go!"

Evan struggled to his feet, almost slipping on the puddle of blood dripping from his mouth. Both boys ran out of the room - not stopping until they reached Evan's car in the parking lot.

Evan's hands shook as he opened the doors. Connor climbed into the passenger's side. Evan backed out with no idea where they were headed - only that he wanted to be as far from the school as possible. 

"Why did you do that?!" he asked.

"I'm Irish!" Connor said. He sounded positively jubilant. "The hell did you expect? I just did the clan o' the Murphys proud!" He tossed his bag into the backseat and glanced out the rear window, as if to see if anyone was following their car. "Man, whoever plays that bassoon's gonna be real upset."

Evan was nowhere near so exhilarated. "Oh God. Oh God. We just assaulted two students. We destroyed school property. We're gonna get suspended. We're gonna get arrested. We're gonna get expelled!"

"Evan, will you just breathe for a damn minute?  You're gonna pass out."

Evan took a deep, gulping breath. They exited the school parking lot. Evan turned right, blindly.

It was easier to breathe once they were off school property. Evan counted seconds. _Inhale deeply. Count to three. Exhale through your mouth._..

Evan touched his mouth gingerly. His shirt was streaked with blood, and the stinging cut throbbed at his touch.

"Okay. Now," Connor said, "you think those chucklefucks are the type to press charges? And admit they were beating you up? They won't say anything. If it's not reported, it didn't happen."

"They might say you attacked them for no reason."

"So? I have you," Connor said. "As a witness. Your word against theirs. And I'm pretty sure you have a cleaner record."

He had a point. "Thanks," Evan said.

"You're welcome." Then, after a moment, "You could have led with that, you know."

Evan's cheeks burned with shame.  _You push him away. You send him needy messages. And then when he saves you, you don't even thank him. Great job, Evan. This deserves a slow clap_.

They rolled down the surburban street. Evan kept the car at a scrupulously law-abiding speed, not sure where to go or whether to ask Connor for directions. Over the last twenty-four hours he had asked - begged - Connor to come to him, talk to him, and now  that he was sitting next to him he didn't know where to start.

"Why do those guys hate you so much?" Evan asked. "I mean, I left you a voice message...which I guess you heard...and when they heard I was with you, that's when they started."

Connor shrugged noncommitally. "I might've sold them some bad weed."

That wasn't enough to explain Pete's anger - his desire to lash out at anyone Connor liked. Evan swallowed. "Were you in a relationship with Pete?"

"Oh God no," Connor said, and Evan felt a little better. "I wouldn't call one afternoon a  _relationship_ ," he added, and Evan felt a lot worse.

Connor was watching him. "Hey," he said. "Let's go somewhere."

"Where?"

"Just stay on this street for a few miles. It'll take you out of town eventually." He gave an impish smile. "I have a place in mind."


	5. Chapter 5

After a few turns and several miles, the street became a winding country road. The little hatchback went up and down the rolling hills, passing vineyards and dairy farms, and Evan began to wonder if Connor really had a destination in mind.

"Is this another secret?" Evan asked finally. 

Connor had spent a lot of their travel time fiddling with the radio. He looked startled now. "What? No. We're going to an orchard."

"And you're not going to commit another crime?"

"Jesus, no. Well. Unless you count trespassing. We'll need to hop a fence." He changed the radio station again.

Evan asked dryly, "You know I have a broken arm, right?"

"Oh boo hoo. Are your legs broken too? Excuses."

Another turn, and the orchard Connor'd described was in sight. 

In front of them stood row after row of old, stately apple trees. Evan could see the property must extend for acres. It was all surrounded by an iron fence, about six feet high - but Evan loved trees, and he could tell these trees hadn't been cared for in a while. Many had scraggly, skinny top branches, badly in need of pruning, and their wilted leaves showed they wanted watering too.

A row of apple trees. A view of farms and forest, taken from the top of a hill. 

Zoe's Instagram photos.

"I know this place," Evan said as he parked.

Connor was unbuckling his seatbelt. "You've been here before?"

 _Crap!_ "Oh - uh - I might've heard of it?"

"My family used to go on picnics here," Connor said. "Pick some apples, eat under a tree. It was...nice. But it's closed now. Probably all be suburbs soon."

Connor opened his door, and it suddenly struck Evan that they could go the whole afternoon - their whole lives, even - without ever discussing what had happened yesterday. They could both just silently agree to never, ever bring it up. So Evan said, "Connor - wait-"

Connor was already standing outside. "What?"

"Why didn't you reply to any of my texts?" Evan asked.

He regretted asking before he even finished. Of all the questions he could have led with, why  _that_  one?

"Dude," Connor said. "I literally told you my parents read all my emails and texts, and you still blew up my phone. You have no idea what I had to do to delete all the copies before my dad saw them." He looked away from Evan, towards the orchard. "Also I thought...maybe it'd be better if we didn't talk anymore."

"I still want to talk to you," Evan said earnestly. "It's just - you can't go around kissing people without asking permission first."

Connor smiled - a little amused, a little sad. "This may surprise you, Evan, but I don't always make good decisions."

He shut the door. Evan opened his and scrambled out. Connor was heading towards the fence. "Follow me," he called over his shoulder. "I have like a million trees to show you."

At the fence, Connor grabbed hold of the top, pulled himself up, and swung over in one fast, fluid motion. Evan had a lot more trouble. He couldn't pull himself up with one arm.

After watching him struggle for several humiliating minutes, Connor finally said, "You know, there's a gate like ten feet away from here."

"What the hell!"

"I just wanted to see you try," Connor said as he walked over and unlatched the gate.

They started to walk uphill. Down here, the path was shaded and cool, and the air smelled sweet from the hundreds of apples that had already fallen on the ground. 

"I'm a little surprised you keep agreeing to this," Connor said.

"To what?"

"...To whatever I suggest, basically," Connor said. "A law-abiding citizen such as yourself. Who has it all together."

Evan laughed out loud. "I have it together? I'm a mess like a hundred percent of the time!"

"You have good grades," Connor said, suddenly serious. "You've never been in court. You take your meds, you do what your therapist tells you, and you actually look forward to Taco Tuesday with your mom. If my parents could trade me for you, they'd do it in a heartbeat."

Evan hadn't thought of it that way before.

"I thought you liked Zoe, at first," Connor said.

Evan almost tripped. "Why?"

"You were really nice to her. But then I found out you're just a decent person. Which is great, because if you were creeping on my sister I'd have to cut your balls off."

"I..." For a moment Evan doubted himself - did he really want to say this? - but then decided there was no harm in it. It'd make Connor feel better, and he was sure Zoe never confided in her brother. "Zoe's a great person, but I never had a crush on her or anything."

Connor didn't reply. He reached deep into the nearest tree and broke off an apple - small, striped, pinkish-red with some green showing through.

"What kind of apple do you think this is?"

"What kind did this orchard grow?"

"I dunno. You're the tree expert."

Connor rubbed the bloom off the apple with his shirt while Evan considered it. 

"Probably just a McIntosh. It's not dark enough to be a Red Delicious."

"Want one?"

"Sure."

To Evan's surprise, Connor grabbed onto the nearest branch and swung up with an easy grace.  _Jeez, maybe he really could do a flip without breaking an arm_ , Evan thought. 

Connor noticed Evan watching. "Check me out, I'm a motherfuckin' squirrel."

Evan laughed. Connor's footing was sure. He plucked an apple from one of the higher branches. "Catch," he said, and tossed it down.

Evan caught it. Connor choose one for himself and settled on a thick branch, one long leg dangling free. "The best ones are always near the top."

There was a question Evan had been meaning to ask - that he felt he had to ask before continuing. "So, you're...bi, I guess?"

"I sexually identify as a llama."

"No, really."

Connor took a bite of apple. "What I am," Connor said, "is bored with that question." He chewed. "I thought we were flirting this whole time, for what it's worth."

"Why?"

"You didn't say 'No' when I asked if you were gay. You asked me out to the rally. And you like musicals."

"Okay, that's a stereotype."

Connor threw up his hands. "Am I wrong though! Am I wrong? You know I'm right! Half the kids in Drama are either gay or in denial."

"I'm not gay," Evan said. "I've always liked girls. But...I like you, too."

"Well, you have my condolences," Connor said.

Evan hadn't started on his apple yet. He rubbed the bloom on its skin with his thumb. "What do you mean?"

"I've been here before," Connor said. "I know how this goes. I'll get needy. You'll pull away. I'll get desperate. You'll pull away. Then I'll hurt you, or myself, or more likely both, and then the bridge'll go up in smoke like it always does. Like I'm a one-man demolition crew."

 _A bunch of stupid girls_ , Zoe had said.  _And a few stupid guys_. "Have you thought of a career in poetry?"

Connor smirked sadly. "Poetry's not a career. You have to be realistic, and if I'm realistic, everyone I know would be better off without me."

Evan thought of Connor - almost two weeks ago, now - with his eyes shut, worrying the crash would cost more than a funeral.  _Of course_. It had been obvious all along.

"When you crashed your car..." Evan asked, "Was that really an accident?"

"Sure," Connor said. "As much as your fall from a tree, acorn-boy."

Connor jumped down, landing neatly on his feet. 

They were almost at the top of the hill now. Connor continued without looking back, "I've been seeing different psychologists since I was eight years old. I've heard everything from 'There's nothing wrong with you' to 'You need to be under psychiatric hold, like _now_.' And it doesn't help that my parents can never agree on what to do about it." He kicked away a fallen apple in their path. "My mom's weird friends think all I need is St. John's wort and coconut oil. The even weirder friends say I'm an 'indigo child' who's going to bring forth enlightenment or some shit. And then you have the well-meaning optimists, who are all like, 'How can you be sad when waffles exist?' And all I can think is, 'I don't know about waffles, but the only thing I'm living for right now is the thought of stabbing you in the eyeball with a fork.'" Connor snapped a twig off a tree. "The point is, there's something wrong with my brain, and I don't know if I'll ever get better. And  _that's_  why I didn't reply to your texts, Evan. You're worried no one will see your good side? I'm worried I don't have a good side."

They reached the top of the hill. 

Evan looked back. The sky was an intense, endless blue. Other orchards and meadows rolled on for miles, sparkling in the golden dust of late afternoon, while small farmhouses hid in the folds of rising, falling hills. 

Evan felt as if his lungs could hold more air here, as if he could reach out and touch the smooth curves of this breathing landscape.

"But...you do," Evan said softly. 

He looked away from the view and back at Connor. Connor wasn't checking the view at all. He was watching Evan. 

"You do have a good side," Evan said. "Like how you gave your all on a story that wasn't even worth that much. Or how you go out of your way to care about places no one else cares about. Or how proud you are of Zoe - even if you never tell her. You should tell her. You're sharp, and fearless, and so, so good. I wish you could see that." He took a deep breath. "And I can..."

Connor winced and shook his head. "Don't say you can fix me. You're smarter than that."

"That's not what I was going to say," Evan said. "I'm all kinds of messed up too. I can't carry you to where you want to go, but I can walk beside you. Like you said...you can't be your own companion."

Connor looked away from Evan. His eyes swept over the orchard, and Evan could see his fists were balled tightly in his pockets. Then he cleared his throat, as if to stop either laughter or tears.

"Sweet," Connor said. "Then we can be messed up together. Race you down the hill!"

Before Evan could say anything, Connor was running down the way they came, kicking up clouds of dust behind his boots. Evan had to follow. 

Connor outpaced him the entire time, more than twenty feet ahead. Near the car he tripped over a loose rock and fell, palms landing flat on the ground.

"Hey!"

"I'm fine!" Connor said. He was laughing. "I'm okay-"

Evan caught his hand and pulled him to his feet. He opened the back door anyway in case Connor needed to sit down.

"No, really, I'm fine," Connor said, suddenly quieter.

They were standing next to the car now, and Evan hadn't let go of his hand. He saw that Connor had bruises on his arms and knuckles - not from falling, but from the fight earlier. Dried blood was still caked on the back of his hand.

"You're pretty cut up," Evan said.

"So are you."

Connor lifted up his right hand and just barely grazed the cut on Evan's lip with his thumb, his other fingers hovering over Evan's cheek. Their warmth felt like a touch.

Evan took Connor's hand and examined it. Connor allowed him to lightly touch the bruises on his knuckles, trace the deeper, reddish mark on his forearm, and then turn his hand palm-up. Connor's fingers were long and white. His dark nail polish was slightly chipped.

"I wanted to tell you you have artistic hands."

Connor quirked a smile. "Sure. Hand model. That'll be my job."

His smile went away when Evan kissed his palm.

Connor's skin was salty and slightly sticky with apple juice. Evan kissed his hand slowly, eyes closed. When he looked up again he saw Connor's eyes had gone dark. 

"So, Evan." His voice was quiet. "May I kiss you?"

Evan swallowed.

"Yes."

Connor leaned forward and kissed him - once, gently, barely pressing on Evan's bottom lip.

Evan kissed him back. He had no idea if he was doing it right. He tried to imitate what Connor had done, self-conscious of spit, and taste, and his own breathing. 

Connor kissed him again, more deeply, then again, deeper still. Without thinking Evan's free hand went up to bury itself in Connor's hair. At that Connor made a soft, whimpering groan, and in a second both tumbled through the open door and onto the backseat. Connor moved to straddle Evan's waist. He was in Evan's lap. He was everywhere. 

Connor was kissing Evan greedily again, but Evan was trying to give back everything Connor took. He felt Connor touch his tongue lightly to the cut on Evan's lip -  _I must taste like blood_  - right before darting it into Evan's mouth. Evan raised his own tongue shyly to meet it. With an eager moan Connor tilted his head to kiss him more, plunging his tongue in hungrily, running it across Evan's molars. His hands wrenched up Evan's shirt to make contact with bare skin.

Evan was aware - distantly - of a growing tightness in his jeans, but as Connor ground against him he suddenly realized Connor was the same. Connor was hard. He was hard for  _him_.

And that thought - more than everything else - was enough to push him over the edge. 

Evan gasped as bliss surged up to his pounding heart and out to his fingers, still buried in Connor's hair. He went still.

"What?" Connor breathed. Then, "Oh." Then, "Wait, why are you crying?"

Evan was sobbing. 

"I..." he tried to begin, but couldn't choke anything more out. He couldn't explain all the fragments in his mind  _\- I didn't think anyone would want me - I'm so sorry - I'm a mess - Does this count? Did I just lose...No, I don't think it counts. - You must hate me now, I can't even do this right_. 

"I'm sorry," Evan said.

Connor crawled off of him. "Dude, it's  _fine_. Oh jeez-"

For some reason Connor's acceptance made everything worse. Everything - every moment of frustrated longing, every lonely hour, every failure to connect, to do right, to say whatever would make a person to stay and not leave - everything flooded to the top, a tsunami of pent-up emotion. It was a grief so strong it felt like fear. He felt his heart would beat out of his chest. He nearly couldn't breathe.

"What do I do?" Connor asked. The question had a note of despair. He sounded completely at a loss.

"I'm - I'm fine-"

"You are not fine," Connor said. "Do you want to go home?" He waited for an answer, and when Evan didn't reply, said, "I'll take you home."

In the back of his mind, far beneath the rising floodwaters, Evan was aware that it was a bad idea for Connor to drive. He couldn't remember why it was a bad idea, however. "Okay," he said.

"Okay," Connor agreed. Evan heard him leave the backseat, get the keys from somewhere, start the ignition - and then heard him mutter, "Jesus, what a day."

***

Connor guided the car back onto the main road while Evan tried not to hyperventilate.  _Breathe in. Count to three. Breathe out_. 

He tried to compose himself - compose to himself _. If you can name it - if you can look your fear in the eye - it's not as frightening anymore. If you can name it, you can fight it._

 _Dear Evan_  - he thought, but stopped himself. He had to stop referring to himself in the third person. These were his feelings. These were his problems.

 _Dear Me_ -

 _I think I might be in love with a borderline case_.

Connor was driving very carefully. Lying down in the backseat, Evan wasn't sure where they were. He was trusting Connor to get them home.

 _I know he likes me_ , Evan thought,  _but I don't know if it'll last._

_And I know - I know we only started talking to each other twelve days ago. People like Connor don't make good decisions._

_I might be one of his bad decisions._

_He took me up this quickly. He might throw me away again_.

_And I knew this going in. I'm walking with eyes wide open onto a broken bridge, thinking it'll hold me when it can't._

_That's what I'm afraid of, he thought. That we're both too broken to hold each other._

_That he'll turn on me like he turned on everyone else._

_That this will mean so much to me, and nothing to him._

Sirens.

The whoop of sirens broke through Evan's thoughts, growing louder and louder.

Connor said, "Oh great. What is that?"

Evan looked behind him - praying for an ambulance or a fire truck, so they could wait for it to pass and then be on their way - but no, it was a police car.

A police car right behind them.

Blue and red lights flashed through the interior of their car. "They want you to stop."

" _Shit_ ," Connor said. 

Even so, Connor carefully pulled over to the shoulder and turned on the hazard lights. The police car parked behind them.

Connor drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, agitated. "I swear I was doing everything right."

Evan suddenly remembered. The appointment his mom had made. The appointment he hadn't kept. "The light...it's...still broken," Evan admitted.

Connor was silent for so long that Evan thought he hadn't heard - until he finally said, each word cut in steel, "Why. The  _fuck_. Didn't you fix it."

"I was supposed to take it in today, but I - forgot."

Connor didn't reply. The police officer had left her car. Connor switched on the interior light as she came up to the driver side window.

"Hello - gentlemen," she said, glancing at Evan in the backseat. "Do you know why I stopped you tonight?"

"I can hazard a guess," Connor said dryly.

"License and registration, please."

"Glove compartment," Evan whispered.

As Connor found the papers and handed them over with his license, he asked, "It's the tail light, isn't it?"

"You'd be correct."

"We were going to get it fixed today."

She nodded and returned to her car.

"I wonder if we could gun it?" Connor said.

"Don't - do - anything." Evan was thinking fast. He remembered now why Connor wasn't supposed to drive. But there had to be a way Evan could talk them out of this. He had to keep Connor from getting into more trouble than he was in already. 

Ninety-nine percent of Evan was terrified, but the remaining one percent observed this was Misdemeanor #6.  _Six misdemeanors since the school year started, and it's still September. I wonder if that's some kind of record_?

In a few minutes the officer returned. "Mr. Murphy, you're driving with a suspended license."

"I-" Connor began, but Evan interrupted.

"He was taking me to the hospital!" Evan said. "He didn't plan to drive, but - I asked him to."

He saw Connor stare at him in the rearview mirror while the officer craned her neck to get a better look at Evan. Her eyes traveled over his bruised cheek, cut lip, and bloody shirt. 

"What happened to you?"

"I - fell," Evan said.

The officer frowned. Then she gave Connor his license back. "The hospital's three minutes away. I'll escort you."

Once she was back in her car, the blue lights started to flash again. Connor started the ignition. "The hospital? How the hell will that help?"

"You didn't mean to drive. It was an emergency. She'll let you off, I'll get triaged, and then after she leaves we'll just  _go home_."

"Evan, I swear, that mouth of yours is just gonna get us into deeper shit," Connor said.

But if there was no choice before, there certainly wasn't one now. Connor navigated the car to the hospital with the police officer right in front of them.

Connor found a parking spot near the Emergency Room entrance. He actually came out to open the door for Evan, and Evan was surprised by this oddly chivalrous gesture till he remembered that, of course, Connor was playing the concerned friend for the police officer. 

The officer came out as well. "You boys all right?"

Connor put an arm around Evan, and Evan leaned his weight on him and pretended to limp. "We're fine, Officer. Thanks for the escort."

"All right. No fine tonight, but get that tail light fixed, Mr. Hansen."

Evan was startled, till he realized she must've seen his name on the insurance papers. "I will."

Connor let go of him once they were inside the hospital's sliding doors. "What now?"

"Just wait for ten minutes - make sure she's left the area - and then home."

"God. This is like..." He laughed suddenly. "This is like some shit I would pull."

Evan shrugged painfully. "You said influence goes both ways."

They signed in at the front desk. The officer had led them to a small, private hospital. The emergency waiting room almost resembled a motel lobby, all beige walls and neat magazine racks. Only a few people were waiting - two families and an elderly man. 

Now that Evan's panic attack - if that was what it was - had passed, he just felt enormously uncomfortable. He was bloody, and sweaty, and sticky. He was embarrassed about falling apart after Connor had simply touched him. He didn't know if he had ruined things somehow, now that Connor had seen what a wreck he was. Everything was a mess, and he wanted it all to be over.

Ten minutes was an arbitrary number. Evan only wanted to make sure they didn't cross paths with the police officer again. Luckily Connor said his house wasn't far - maybe eight minutes away.

They were on minute nine, in fact, when someone called Evan's name. 

"Evan!"

Connor turned before Evan did, and went pale. "Oh, fuck," he said under his breath.

It was Connor's parents - both of them. They hadn't seen Connor yet. 

Mrs. Murphy hurried up to Evan and laid a maternal hand on his cheek. "What happened? We got a call from the police saying Connor had brought you here for an emergency. She said you were injured, like someone hit you - she said you could barely walk-"

Mr. Murphy stopped her with a look. He nodded towards their son. Connor had half-hidden himself behind a pillar when his parents arrived. Now he came out and slouched into a waiting room chair.

"What happened?" Mrs. Murphy repeated, to Connor this time.

Connor looked her in the eye but said nothing.

More strategy. Admit they'd been in a fight, and Connor could get suspended or expelled, if not arrested. "It was an accident," Evan answered for him. "I mean - it was my fault, we just went to this hill outside of town after school, and I challenged him to a race-"

No one was paying attention to Evan. Evan saw both of Connor's parents take in the boys' appearances. Evan's obvious injuries and red, swollen eyes; Connor's scraped knuckles and bruised arms.

"Connor," Mr. Murphy said, "did you do this to him?"

For the first time, Evan saw just the slightest hint of doubt - even disbelief - in Connor's eyes. Connor looked from his father, to his mother, and back again. Whatever he was searching for in their faces, he didn't find it.

Connor asked slowly, "You think I could do this? To  _Evan_?"

Evan erupted. "That's not what happened! Here's the truth - two guys tried to beat me up at school, and Connor helped me. He didn't hurt me, he fought the other guys off! Connor - tell them that's the truth-"

Connor had completely closed off. He was staring at the ground, arms held tight at his waist.

"Connor - come on - tell them," Evan pleaded. "Aren't you going to defend yourself?" 

Connor's voice was low. "What's the point?" he asked.

Mr. Murphy gave a disappointed sigh while Mrs. Murphy hovered over Evan. "We'll take you home, Evan..."

"Needless to say," Mr. Murphy said, "you won't need to drive Connor anywhere anymore. Don't worry, he'll never touch you again. We'll make sure of it."

"No, you're not listening-" Evan said, but it made no difference. Connor had gone comatose, not confirming a single thing Evan said. It was clear the Murphys thought Evan was making up lies to protect Connor. The more he protested, the more they disbelieved him.

The Murphys split the boys up. Mr. Murphy took Connor home. Mrs. Murphy drove Evan back to his house in his mom's car - the Murphys agreed Evan was clearly too distraught to drive himself. Evan tried to at least catch Connor's eye before they were separated, but Connor wouldn't look at him.

Evan's mom was waiting for them at the front door when they drove up. Evan was home much later than expected, after all; he supposed she'd been looking out the living room window all afternoon, waiting for him.

Mrs. Murphy got out immediately to talk to her, but Evan stayed behind in the car for a moment. In every way, he was exhausted. He didn't want to listen to Mrs. Murphy's version of events or deal with his mother's alarm. He wanted it all to just - end, somehow.

Evan glanced at the backseat. Connor had tossed his bag there when they'd left school. It was still there. 

While Mrs. Murphy and his mom talked on the front step, Evan took Connor's bag with him and came into the house through the garage instead. He could tell his mom what really happened later, after Mrs. Murphy left. He couldn't get a word in edgewise now.

In his room - after finally cleaning up and changing clothes - Evan sent Connor a text.

_Have your backpack. I'll keep it in my locker - give it to you after homeroom tomorrow._

He was wondering if Connor would reply - if he was allowed to reply, or if his phone would be confiscated now - when his mom called him to the living room.

Mrs. Murphy had left. When he came into the room Evan saw his mom appraise him, head to toe. 

"I guess...you want to know what happened today," he said.

"I heard," she said. "Honey...can I ask you something?"

Evan waited for the question.

"Is Connor more than a friend?"

That question, Evan thought, could only be answered by a yes or a no, and then a chapter-long footnote. 

"No," Evan said. "I only really met him two weeks ago, Mom."

Evan went back to his room. He'd thought he could explain things - but it turned out there was so much he didn't know himself.


	6. Chapter 6

A Facebook conversation.

 **Jared Kleinman [11:35 PM]:** So word on the street is that Connor Murphy beat the shit out of you today.

 **Evan Hansen [11:36 PM]:** How did you even hear about that?

 **Jared Kleinman [11:37 PM]:** His mom talks to your mom talks to my mom. Word gets around. U OK?

 **Jared Kleinman [11:43 PM]:** u there?

 **Jared Kleinman [11:53 PM]:** Listen, I know I give you a lot of crap, but I don't want you to get hurt.

 **Jared Kleinman [11:54 PM]:** Dude's bad news.

 **Jared Kleinman [11:54 PM]:** Hey I still owe you a dollar. I'll leave it in ur locker tomorrow.

***

Evan woke up the next morning aching all over.

He'd been so exhausted yesterday he'd fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation with Jared. Now, the injuries that hadn't really bothered him yesterday practically sang with pain. His whole back felt tender to the touch.

The worst, however, was his cheek. The bruise there had turned black-and-blue overnight. It was horrifying - so much that he thought about looking through the cupboards for whatever makeup powder girls used to cover up pimples, except he had no idea if his mother owned that stuff, wouldn't know what to do with it if he found it, and didn't have time to figure it out. He'd overslept already. 

His mom was stirring a cup of coffee when he raced into the kitchen. Evan was sorry he didn't have time to eat breakfast again - but happy there wasn't much time to talk, either.

"Hi, Mom-"

"Are you driving, or do you want me to drop you off?" she asked.

She was keeping her voice very calm. Given all that'd happened, Evan realized she was being extremely generous in giving him a choice. "I can drive."

"I made another appointment with the mechanic. Four PM. Don't forget this time, okay?"

"Okay."

Evan rifled through the fridge for something he could call lunch. When he closed the door his mother was standing next to him. 

He was taller than her now, so she tipped his chin down to get a good look at his bruise. He saw her eyes scan his face carefully. She sighed. "Evan...just know you never have to figure things out on your own, okay? You can ask me anything. You can  _tell_  me anything. And I'll always love you, no matter what."

Evan looked at the ground. "I know, Mom." 

They said their goodbyes. Evan glanced back at the door before he got into the car. His mother looked immensely tired. 

 _Dear Evan Hansen - today's going to be a great day_! he thought, and wanted to laugh. Maybe this was what it felt like to go into hysterics.

His mother meant well. He would tell her everything soon. Maybe even tonight. But it wasn't true that he could always ask her for help. He had to figure this out on his own.

Connor's backpack was stuffed inside his own. As he'd planned, he put it in his locker to pass on after homeroom.

He was going to see Connor in a few minutes. This was all he could think of during first period. Once again, he didn't know what he was going to say, exactly, but he knew he and Connor had to put their heads together and figure out - something. How to be together.

 _I_ _f that's even what Connor wants_ , a voice whispered darkly. Evan chose to ignore it.

Unfortunately his distraction today and yesterday had been obvious - his teacher detained him for a minute to ask if "everything was all right" - but after that Evan headed straight to his locker when class let out.

Connor wasn't there. Jared was.

Jared whistled when he saw Evan's face. "Sweet fancy Moses. So the rumors were true."

Irritation - bordering on outright anger - bubbled up inside of Evan. "What do you want?"

"Dude, I told you on Facebook last night. I needed to give you a dollar back."

"I didn't check my messages today," Evan said, as he pulled open his locker.

Connor's backpack wasn't there.

Cold fear trickled down Evan's spine. When he looked up, Jared was watching him.

"How long have you been standing here?"

"You're wondering if I saw your boyfriend, right? Yeah. I did."

"And you - opened my locker for him?"  _Maybe it wasn't so bad. Please, God, don't let him find out-_

"No," Jared said. "He opened it himself. I told him the combination."

" _What_?!"

"You said he's a smart guy. He'll put two and two together."

"Why would you do that?!"

"So he'll leave you alone!" Jared said. "I don't know what kind of weird love/hate thing you've got going on, but it's not healthy."

"You don't know  _anything_ ," Evan said. He slammed his locker shut. "Oh God - I don't know what he's going to do-"

"See?" Jared said. "You shouldn't date people who  _scare_ you."

A tiny part of Evan had compassion for Jared - understood that he was trying to protect him, in a way - and realized from Jared's perspective, everything looked black and white. But most of Evan was screaming internally. He wasn't scared of what Connor would do to him. He was scared of what Connor would do to himself. 

There was only a short break between periods. Evan had to go straight back to class, and live through a second day of jangled nerves and worrying distraction.

Connor didn't come to English again.

Evan looked over his shoulder at the empty seat after the period began. How was it that so much had changed in a few days? Just last Saturday - three days ago - he'd fainted in a blood bank. He had never given blood before. He hadn't heard Connor's favorite bands or gone to any of his favorite places. He hadn't known - or even thought to wonder - what it'd be like to hold his hand. Now he had done and known all of these things.

Pete was also absent. Tim was there; he had a Band-Aid on his wrist, and kept his eyes away from Evan the whole time.

At the end of class Ms. Giordano handed back the short stories they'd written in the first week. Evan was the last to receive his - the bell had already rung, and his classmates were shuffling their papers together and heading out the door. 

Evan glanced at the red letter on the first page. He and Connor had gotten an 'A.'

 _And you said I couldn't imitate your voice worth shit_ , Evan thought, then sobered.  _If there's anything good in here, it was yours_.

After school, Evan headed straight to the mechanic's.

He wasn't going to miss a second appointment. Fixing the wiring took more than an hour, so Evan sat in the front room, listlessly doing calculus homework and failing to sympathize with New York high society in the Gilded Age ("You're already  _married_ , Newland, freakin' let it  _go_.") when his phone rang. It wasn't a number he recognized. 

"Hi?" he answered.

"Hi, Evan," Zoe said. She sounded like she was in a hurry. "Sorry to bother you-"

"It's no bother-"

"-but did you see Connor at school today?"

His heart began to beat a little faster. "No."

"Okay..." she said. "I saw him this morning, but my parents got a call from the school today. He didn't attend any of his classes after homeroom."

_Oh God._

"They're getting worried, but they can't report him as missing yet. He hasn't been gone long enough. Do you have any idea where he might be?"

Evan racked his mind. "No...no, he didn't tell me anything."

Silence on the other end.

"You said you saw him today - did he say anything to you?"

"Yeah, it was right before second period. He just grabbed me in the hall and asked if you'd ever asked me out. I said yes, but that you were perfectly sweet about it. Is that - is that why he beat you up yesterday? Because you liked me a little?"

"No!" Evan said. "He didn't beat me up. He never hurt me."

"That's not what my parents said."

"No, please believe me - he didn't hurt me. He wouldn't do that."  _Oh God. He knows my locker combination. He saw the pictures inside. He knows I asked her out. He must think_ - 

"Fine - let us know if you hear from him, okay? I mean this isn't the first time he's gone missing, but every other time it...didn't end well."

"I will," he said.

Zoe hung up. Evan immediately called Connor's number.

Zoe answered. "Yeah, that won't work. He left his phone at home."

"Oh."

"Also, did you know he set 'MMMBop' as your ringtone?"

Evan rubbed his forehead. "What's that?"

"You know, Hanson? Boy band from twenty years ago?" She sighed. "Talk about self-torture."

Zoe hung up before Evan could explain it was probably a quirky gesture of friendship. He reflected to himself: Zoe was good, and brave, and kind. But he was pretty sure she would never hit a man upside the head with a bassoon for him.

Evan chewed on his fingernails. Connor missing. Where could he be? Even without a car, he'd had hours to go - anywhere. Biking or hitchhiking could cover a lot of distance. Even just walking could take him miles outside the town. Evan was sure his family must've checked all the obvious places already. 

_If I was Connor, where would I go?_

Probably nowhere loud or crowded. Maybe he'd gone to one of the abandoned places he loved so much. But the whole point of them was that they were forgotten and hard to find. Connor probably knew dozens of hidden places that he hadn't told his family - or Evan - about.

Evan pulled their writing assignment out of his backpack. He turned over its pages until he reached the middle of Connor's section.

_The bridge collapses, and suddenly Anthea is falling through a swirling void._

_She had expected all along to reach the other side. But now she realizes this is what she truly wanted: to fall. To be weightless._

_To be free._

That day at the station. Connor had mentioned a mansion. The orchard. And...

Evan shut his eyes tightly.

He knew where Connor was.

***

Late afternoon was turning to dusk by the time Evan found the bridge.

The worst thing about the Zieliński Bridge wasn't all the suicides that had happened there, or any of its supposed hauntings. The worst thing was that Evan had no idea how to spell it. He must have tried ten different variations before Google was finally able to discern what he meant, and offer him directions.

He'd texted Zoe his idea too, but once the car was ready to go - minutes after the call ended - Evan was immediately on the road. Now that the light was fixed he felt weirdly impervious to law enforcement. He could speed as much as he needed. 

He had a friend to save.

The bridge - Evan had learned from photos online, even before setting out - was an old wooden footbridge well out of city limits, formerly used to lead sheep from the lowlands to winter pastures in the foothills. Now that everything was suburbs the bridge was no longer maintained and technically off-limits to pedestrians - not that Connor would care, of course.

A low yellow sun was turning the dry grass wheat-gold as Evan skidded his car to a halt near the bridge. He got out and ran, stopping only once the bridge was in sight.

Yellow fields. Dark green cypress trees. And in the center of his vision-

Connor was sitting in the middle of the bridge. 

He'd gone over the handrail to sit at the very edge, legs dangling far above the water. He was wearing sunglasses and rolling something in his lap.

Connor stopped when Evan's footsteps approached, but he didn't look up.

"Connor," Evan said.

"What," Connor said flatly. The word had a slicing edge of anger.

Evan took one step closer. He had a sense that he had to be very, very careful - that if he so much as breathed incorrectly, something terrible would happen. "What are you doing here?"

Connor didn't answer. He was sprinkling something onto a scrap of paper. Evan saw now: he was trying to roll a joint. 

"So you just talked to me to get to my sister," Connor said.

"That's not how it-"

"What the  _fuck_ , Evan. Asking her out behind my back? Jerking it to her Instagram? Then when she turned you down, I guess I was just convenient or whatever the fuck-"

"No!" Evan said. He had to be honest - anything else would only make things worse. "I did like Zoe, but now-"

"Now you want me?" Connor asked, and his voice dripped with mockery. "I'm not gonna be your stepping stone or your second choice. Fuck you, Evan Hansen." Connor's hands were shaking. When he tried to roll up the paper, a breeze swept up and scattered the gram inside. Connor crumpled up the paper and tossed it away in frustration. He stared down at the water beneath him. "I'm done," he said.

Evan had known this all along, somehow - that this was why Connor had come to the bridge. This was the danger he was skating up against. This was why he was afraid to breathe. 

"Please - don't," Evan said. For some reason only the most clichéd lines came to him in this moment of panic. "Think of all the people who love you."

"Like who? My sister hates me. My dad does too. My mom'd be sad, I guess, but she'll be dead in fifty years, tops. So who else? You?" he asked, and gave the coldest laugh Evan had ever heard. "Go ahead, give me another reason to live."

Evan shut his eyes.

He remembered holding onto a tree branch, and thinking of how easy it'd be to fall - how no one would even notice or come to find him - how even his mom, the one person who loved him, would realize it was a gift, eventually, now that she was free to do whatever she wanted with her life...

And what could have convinced him not to let go? What reason could he have given himself to live?

Evan opened his eyes and looked at Connor. "I can't think of a single damn thing."

Connor looked back at him, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses.

"I just know..." Evan said, "I'm glad I met you. The world's better with you in it. And if you do this - you can't take it back. You can't go back and change your mind, because there'll be no 'you' anymore. I can't promise things'll get better. I don't know, maybe they'll only get worse. But even if there's a one in a million chance it gets better, that's still a chance. And if you're gone, you'll miss it. So..." Evan took a deep breath. "I'm not saying 'don't do it.' I'm saying 'don't do it  _now_.' Give it another day. Give me a few hours." He managed to smile. "And if you still want to...you can always do it tomorrow."

Connor took off his sunglasses.

His eyes were red and swollen, just like they had been the day after the car crash. Now Evan knew: he wasn't high. He had been crying.

Evan stepped closer - onto the bridge - and began walking towards him, step by step. Connor didn't move.

Finally Evan knelt down behind him. He touched Connor's shoulder.

Connor trembled and then, finally, collapsed into Evan's arms, weeping soundlessly. Evan held onto him tightly, cradling him like a child - pulling him away from the edge.

***

Dear Evan Hansen,

Thanks for the card. I'm kind of surprised my parents even gave you the address for this place, but mail is nice.

So to answer your questions:

Yes, I'm okay (for a given value of "okay"). I'm not allowed anything sharp - so there goes my dream of starting an indoor cactus farm - or belts, bed sheets, or shoelaces. A guard even watches me brush my teeth, since I guess some inventive person managed to hang herself with dental floss. So have no fear, it'd take a far cleverer man than I to harm himself in this place.

Yes, the other inmates are fine (for a given value of "fine"). It's all teenagers in my ward. We have group sessions twice a day. Seems like everyone's main hobbies are self-harm and sobbing themselves dry, so, you know, we have a ton in common already.

And no, I won't be long. This is a voluntary commitment. I don't know if I'm heading back to school, though. Depends on how healthy I feel at the end of this.

So far it's a bit like prison and a bit like preschool. (Lots of arts and crafts. I could make you a macaroni necklace.) When I'm not in therapy I spend a lot of time just wandering the grounds, thinking. Not gonna lie, things have been bad for a long time for me, and I don't know if I'll get any better.

But that's exactly the thing: I don't know. I might not. But I might. When everything's felt like pointless bullshit for so long, that tiny sliver of doubt feels a lot like hope.

I know I want to get better, at least. 

Anyway, my therapist says I should write down two things I'm grateful for every day, so here are today's two.

  1. I'm alive.
  2. You don't have to write letters to yourself anymore. 



Sincerely,

CM

P.S. I could use some tree pictures. Send the most amazing ones you have.

**Author's Note:**

> Last month, I had the good fortune to see _Dear Evan Hansen_ on Broadway. (It was Ben Platt's second-to-last performance.) Afterwards, the person I'd gone with (jokingly) asked me to write an Evan/Connor fic. At first I was kind of "Ehh..." about it, but after thinking some more I realized it could be an interesting challenge to try to write in these characters' voices - especially to flesh out a person who's still attractive, but also clearly very ill. 
> 
> The sequel to this work is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14891162/chapters/34487414).
> 
> Thank you for reading~


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